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Class ~PZ T 


Book 


■U2.VE 


Copyright N rt _ \_ ■ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 


/ 














THE LAST PARRAKEET 









“Hold on there, Skinny,” he said, “these feathers are n’t in the 
same position as when we left” 




THE 

LAST PARRAKEET 


BY 


GEORGE INNESS HARTLEY 


a 

Author of “Boy Hunters in Demerara,” “The Importance 

of Bird Life,” etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 
DONALD TEAGUE 


****** 






> 


) 


THE CENTURY CO 
New York and London 
1923 







Copyright, 1922, 1923, by 
The Century Co. 




^/' 7 J 

PRINTED IN U. S. A. 


SEP 18 '23 

©C1A75S024 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEB 

I 

Mr. Whitehouse of Florida 

• 

• 

• 

PAGE 

3 

II 

Five Thousand Dollars Reward 
Parrakeet . 

FOR 

A 

12 

III 

Off for the Everglades . 




• 

25 

IV 

An Unpleasant Greeting 




• 

35 

V 

Jeff Down. 




• 

5 i 

VI 

The Thrasher 




• 

64 

VII 

The Camp. 





78 

VIII 

The Heron Meadow . 




• 

88 

IX 

Paul, the Fisherman . 




• 

98 

X 

The Egret Rookery . 




• 

109 

XI 

An Unrequited Search . 




• 

125 

XII 

Battle of the Saurians . 




• 

135 

XIII 

An Unwelcome Intruder 




• 

147 

XIV 

Exploring the Forest . 




• 

160 

XV 

A Trip by Canoe . 




• 

170 

XVI 

The Parrakeets . 




• 

183 

XVII 

A Dreadful Discovery . 




• 

194 

XVIII 

On the Trail of the Plates 



• 

208 









CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XIX The Accident. 218 

XX , Parker and Paul. 228 

XXI The Egret Plumes. 238 

XXII Adventure with a Wolf .... 249 

XXIII Return to Camp. 261 

XXIV A Sudden Appearance. 271 

XXVI Victory.281 







LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“Hold on there, Skinny,” he said, “these feathers 
aren’t in the same position as when we left” 

Frontispiece 

FACING 

PAGE 

“W-What does he mean?” he stammered ... 38 


For a moment Paul stared at the newcomer in 

amazement.192 


The sight of his enemy held him speechless . . . 230 





f 


THE LAST PARRAKEET 


THE LAST PARRAKEET 

CHAPTER I 

MR. WHITEHOUSE OF FLORIDA 

I T does n’t resemble the jungle much, does 
it, Fat?” 

Only six hours before, for the first 
time in a full twelvemonth, the two boys had 
set foot on their native Broadway. The never- 
to-be-forgotten bustle of the great city, the in¬ 
conceivable turmoil, the honking of auto¬ 
mobile horns, the clang of surface-cars, yes, 
and the thin blue haze of gasoline fumes and 
oil, requited the longing which had reposed 
in their breasts for many months past. New 
York City did more than that. The rush, the 
systematic confusion, the hurrying crowds, 
filled them with awe and not a little trepida¬ 
tion. So long had they been absent from the 
seething metropolis that its daily ways were 


4 


THE LAST PARRAKEET 


no longer their ways. They had lost the city 
habit. The rapidity with which life there 
moved found them unaccustomed and almost 
fearful. 

For months the boys had tramped the Bra¬ 
zilian wilds, wandered lost through vast Ama¬ 
zonian swamps, and more than once had es¬ 
caped alive by the merest intervention of 
Providence coupled with their own good hard 
common sense. In Demerara they had hunted 
and killed the giant armadillo; in Peru they 
had nearly succumbed to thirst on an arid pla¬ 
teau; and on the costal islands of that great 
country they had been attacked by guano pi¬ 
rates. And now the two of them, Paul Jen¬ 
kins and Fred Milton, had returned to their 
native city—and were afraid. 

“I’d rather buck up against a wounded 
jaguar any day than try to cross a street 
through this traffic!” Paul declared, staring in 
dismay at the endless streams of taxicabs, 
trucks, and touring-cars which swept past the 
curb in apparent reckless confusion. 

Fred gave a hearty nod. “So would I, 
Fat,” he ruefully agreed, placing a thin, 


MR. WHITEHOUSE 


5 

weather-browned hand on the shoulder of his 
stout, equally tanned chum. “It’s different 
from anything we’ve lately been used to. 
Great Day! I don’t remember that it was as 
bad as this! Crossing a street here is worse 
than trying to swim one of the cataracts in 
Demerara. I say let’s stay on this side of the 
avenue.” 

“You’ve read my identical thought, 
Skinny,” chuckled Paul, “though how are we 
going to reach the up-town subway if we don’t 
cross over? Talk about dangers of the jungle, 
for real thrills give me Broadway in the early 
evening! The jungle is a calm, sleepy bit of 
New England woodland compared to this.” 

“I suppose we ’ll have to get used to it in 
time,” said Fred, smiling, “so let’s commence 
now.” 

Awaiting a lull in the relentless, speeding 
stream, they presently darted across the broad 
thoroughfare and reached the far side with¬ 
out mishap. There they proudly paused, as 
if at the successful performance of a perilous 
act, and looked back. 

“Phew!” ejaculated Fred, half-humor- 


6 


THE LAST PARRAKEET 


ously shaking his head and drawing a deep 
breath, “those fellows don’t slow down for any 
one.” 

Paul uttered a short laugh and, jerking his 
head toward an approaching automobile, 
said: “Look at that machine full of people 
staring at us. They think we ’re a pair of 
rubes just come to town; and I reckon they ’re 
just about right.” 

There were several blocks to be traversed 
before the first subway entrance could be 
reached, and the pair continued on foot up 
Broadway. Midway on their journey they 
halted, held by the sudden clanging of a bell 
and the harsh wail of a siren. As if at the 
touch of a magic wand an open passage ap¬ 
peared in the street; the rushing traffic paused 
in mid-air, as it were, and crowded close to 
the curb. A monstrous fire-engine whizzed 
by, belching smoke from its burnished super¬ 
structure, to be followed a minute later by 
a great, fiery-red hook-and-ladder which 
swayed drunkenly as it roared toward them. 

An old gentleman, who had stood near the 


MR. WHITEHOUSE 


7 


boys while the engine surged past, pushed 
through the barrier of waiting vehicles and 
started across the open space. Half-way 
across he was startled by the warning clang of 
the approaching hook-and-ladder, and paused 
uncertainly, bewildered by the sudden din, 
while the roaring, shrieking, swaying truck 
bore down upon him. 

But before it could reach him, the man 
dimly realized that two boyish figures had ap¬ 
peared beside him, one short and rotund, the 
other taller and thin. He felt himself seized 
by the arms and was dragged aside just as the 
metallic monster tore by. An instant later he 
stood safe on the sidewalk between the two 
boys. Broadway returned to life. A hun¬ 
dred cars surged forward as one. 

“That was a narrow escape, sir,” Paul de¬ 
clared a trifle breathlessly with a half-smile. 
“The fire department stops for nothing.” 

The man they had rescued was old, ap¬ 
proaching his seventieth year, with long 
white hair partly hidden by a broad- 
brimmed felt hat. His clothes were of good 


8 


THE LAST PARRAKEET 


tailored cut, but, as one could see, foreign to 
New York. Even before he spoke the boys 
were certain that the city was not his home. 

The old gentleman said nothing for a mo¬ 
ment. He seemed too dazed for coherent 
thought. Then, gathering his scattered facul¬ 
ties together, he nodded to his rescuers, and a 
twinkle entered his eyes. 

“Yes, suh, I reckon you are right about 
that,” he said dryly. “I wish to thank you two 
gentlemen fo’ saving my life; yes, suh, you 
did!” 

He drew a deep breath, and continued: “I 
am deeply beholden to both of you. As you 
may have judged, I am not used to such a 
whirlwind of flying vehicles as you see over 
there, and I quite lost control of my move¬ 
ments. I should never have left my ranch.” 

“Texan, probably,” thought Fred; then 
aloud: “Shall we hail a cab for you, sir? 
Perhaps after your experience you ’d rather 
ride to your destination?” 

“Thank you, suh, I would!” The man 
chuckled outright. “I ’ll ride this hyar range 
in a car after this.” 


MR. WHITEHOUSE 


9 

“You come from the West?” politely in¬ 
quired Paul. 

“No, suh! The South is my home— 
Thrasher, Florida—and I’m returning there 
to-morrow.” 

“But you spoke about a ranch?” 

“Yes, suh, I did; the Thrasher ranch, 
Thrasher, Florida.” 

“But, sir, I thought ranches were found only 
in the West. Do you raise cattle?” 

“Indeed I do, suh; a good many thousand 
head. The Thrasher covers some fifty thou¬ 
sand acres, and I don’t know exactly how 
many head I own.” 

“By Jove!” murmured Fred in amazement, 
“that’s a new one on me! Are there many 
similar ranches there?” 

“Bless yo’ hearts, my boys,” laughed the 
old man, laying a kindly hand on the shoulder 
of each, “of course there are! More than half 
the State is used as a cattle-range, millions of 
acres. There must be a score of ranches 
larger than mine, though they don’t always 
call them ranches. But the cattle are not as 
good as those that come from the West. They 


IO THE LAST PARRAKEET 

don’t grow over-fat; but we manage to eke 
along somehow,” he added with a smile. 

“Where is the ranch?” inquired Fred, dur¬ 
ing a pause. “In what part of the State?” 

“Quite a bit south of Tampa, on the gulf 
coast. Part of it runs clear into the Ever¬ 
glades.” 

“Those must be interesting,” ventured Paul. 

The old gentleman laughed softly. “They 
are, suh,” he said, “if you like alligators and 
diamond-back rattlesnakes, with a few cotton- 
mouths and a lot of herons and a stray parra- 
keet thrown in. The Glades are not consi¬ 
dered over-healthy.” 

“Those are just what we do like,” returned 
Fat. “Not the unhealthy part but the ’gators 
and herons and all those things. We have just 
returned from a long collecting trip for just 
that kind of thing in South America.” 

“Have you, now?” was the hearty response. 
“That is interesting. May I venture to ask 
if you were successful?” 

The boys gave a short sketch of their ad¬ 
ventures, speaking of their interest in natural 
science and their insatiable thirst for jungle 


MR. WHITEHOUSE 


ii 


lore. The man listened, evidently charmed 
by the way in which they told their story. At 
its conclusion a taxicab, in answer to a beckon¬ 
ing finger from Fred, drew up to the curb, and 
the old gentleman prepared to enter. 

“You must come and visit me some time, 
young suhs,” he said. “The door of the 
Thrasher is always open to you whenever you 
decide that the Everglades need exploring. 
My name is Robert C. Whitehouse, at yo’ serv¬ 
ice, suhs, and yours are—?” 

A few moments later, with a final wave of 
the hand to his new friends, Mr. Whitehouse 
bade the chauffeur drive on. A whir of tired 
gears, and the taxi was lost in the maelstrom 
of traffic. The boys watched until it disap¬ 
peared and then continued their interrupted 
walk to the subway. 


CHAPTER II 


FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD FOR 

A PARRAKEET 

S EVERAL weeks slipped by, and the in¬ 
cident on Broadway entirely passed 
from the minds of the two young natu¬ 
ralists. Their time was wholly taken up with 
hard work in the museum laboratory to which 
they were attached. Thousands of bird-skins 
must be unpacked, hundreds of mammal skele¬ 
tons, and there w'ere countless hordes of dried 
insects to be sorted over. The recent journey 
to the South American jungle had been fruit¬ 
ful, and the collection was one of the finest and 
most complete that had ever been taken for 
the museum. 

When the skins had been unpacked they 
must be placed in groups according to the 
locality in which they had been collected, and 
then the real labor would begin. Each speci- 




12 


REWARD FOR A PARRAKEET 13 

men must be given a name, and each name 
must be the correct one. 

So commenced the work of comparison. A 
dozen books of descriptions were required, 
and scores of older, already named “type” 
specimens. Slowly the scientific names ap¬ 
peared on the hitherto blank labels, but at best 
it was tedious work. Now and again a new 
species was discovered which, until the present 
moment, had been unknown to science, and 
then the skin was subjected to a most minute 
description carefully written down by each of 
the lads in turn and afterward compared to 
make certain that it was correct. This de¬ 
scription was put aside to take a conspicuous 
place in the detailed report on the collection 
which later must be submitted to the museum. 

But Fred and Paul found that their time in 
the laboratory was not entirely consumed 
in this everlasting work of cataloguing and de¬ 
scribing. More than once during the six 
weeks they remained there packages were 
brought in for inspection which contained 
sheaves of feathers, bird-plumes. On one 
day it would be feathers of the bird of para- 


H 


THE LAST PARRAKEET 


dise, on another the nuptial plumes of the 
snowy egret, or the gorgeous plumage of a 
brilliant-hued oriental pheasant. At such 
times the boys dropped the dried skins and, 
with the aid of other members of the Museum 
staff, strove to determine the species of bird 
from which the feathers originated. It was 
not a game they were playing, but an effort 
to aid Uncle Sam’s customs service. 

The practice of smuggling any particular 
object is as ancient as the first law which for¬ 
bade the importation of that material. For 
nearly a generation now, the killing of egrets 
for their plumes within the United States or 
the importation of their feathers had been for¬ 
bidden by federal law. In the same way 
birds of paradise and the plumage of numer¬ 
ous other birds foreign to this continent have 
been forbidden ingress. Despite the law, 
however, smuggling still goes on at a great 
rate, and the customs-house inspectors find 
their positions filled with much trial and 
trouble. The smugglers may assert that the 
plumes do not come from egrets, or birds of 
paradise, or crowned pigeons; and then the 


REWARD FOR A PARRAKEET 15 

poor inspector must prove that they do. 
Hence he resorts to expert advice obtained 
mainly from a museum or zoological park. 

One fine spring morning when the boys’ 
thoughts rambled out of doors toward some 
sunny stretch of grassy meadow, as thoughts 
often do in May, a more formidable bundle 
than usual was delivered at the laboratory and 
carried to them for inspection. Uttering a 
sigh of complete boredom, Fred untied the 
string and opened the package. 

“This is the third one this week,” he grum¬ 
bled, spreading the feathers on the long coun¬ 
ter in front of him. “Why do people have to 
keep on breaking the law and make other peo¬ 
ple work themselves to death to detect them? 
It would be easier in the first place for every 
one concerned if they’d let the birds live.” 

“There are a good many thousand women 
lookin’ for hat-plumes, Skinny,” rejoined 
Paul, stifling a yawn and grinning, “and the 
plume-hunter don’t like to disappoint ’em; 
that’s the reason. Hullo, these are different 
from the usual kind sent here.” 

Instead, as they had expected, of the mass 


16 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


of lacy, white feathers of the snowy egret 
which a majority of the customs seizures con¬ 
tained, these were of a reddish tint. Sprinkled 
among them, however, were a few white ai- 
grets, a number of great blue wings, and many 
nondescript skins. 

“Red egrets!” exclaimed Fred, picking up 
one of the delicate dark-tinted plumes and ex¬ 
amining it in the light of a window. “I won¬ 
der where they got them. The birds are ex¬ 
tremely rare, almost on the verge of extinction. 
Whew, whoever collected these must have got¬ 
ten into a rookery! What a shame it is that 
there are people in the world who will do a 
thing like that!” 

“It sure is!” growled Paul, with an indig¬ 
nant snort. “There must be two dozen of 
these plumes alone, besides all the rest. Yes, 
sir, I would like to wring the neck of the chap 
who did it.” 

“I’d help you with great pleasure,” sav¬ 
agely agreed Fred. “And look at the wings! 
Here are ten belonging to the great blue heron 
a-n.d several to the little green.” 


REWARD FOR A PARRAKEET 17 

He laid the aigrets in a separate pile and 
the .wings in another. Beside them he de¬ 
posited the skins of half a dozen red cardinal- 
birds. 

“It’s a cinch to tell where all of these came 
from,” he observed. 

“Where, Skinny?” 

“Florida! I guess about the only place 
where there are any red egrets left is in that 
State or Texas, and, as I said, they ’re mighty 
scarce. And these big wings which I said 
belonged to great blues are really from the 
Ward’s heron, which is the Southern variety 
of the great blue. Gemini, if we can’t stop 
the people from hunting plumes in our own 
country, we ought not to kick about them do¬ 
ing it in other countries!” 

“What kind do you call this?” demanded 
Paul, picking up a pair of small green 
wings tinged with bright yellow at the bend, 
to which adhered bits of skin bearing tufts of 
pale green feathers. “Looks to me as if they 
had come from some sort of parrot, don’t you 
think?” 


18 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


“By Jove!” 

What Fred further intended to reply was 
cut short by the entrance of a uniformed at¬ 
tendant. 

“Dr. Keene would like to see both of you 
young gentlemen in his office, at once,” the 
man said, and, casting a keen glance at the 
feathers on the counter, left them. 

“Wonder what’s up now?” muttered Paul. 
“Have any idea, Skinny?” 

The other shrugged his shoulders. “About 
our report, I suppose,” he hazarded carelessly. 
“Come on.” 

They were shortly ushered into the presence 
of the head of the museum. Dr. Keene, a 
man of near sixty took a fatherly interest in 
all the members of the staff, and Fred Milton 
and Paul Jenkins held not the lowest place in 
his affections. Jack Milton, Fred’s brother, 
was still away in South America, and during 
his absence Dr. Keene had taken the boys, so 
to speak, under his wing. 

“Sit down,” he invited kindly, and when 
they had found chairs he broached the subject 
of the consultation with an abrupt question. 


REWARD FOR A PARRAKEET 19 

“How would both of you like to take an¬ 
other trip?” 

For a moment the lads were so taken aback 
by the sudden inquiry that they could find no 
answer. Finally Fred managed to stam¬ 
mer, “V-very good, sir!” 

Dr. Keene vouchsafed him a kindly smile 
and, speaking rapidly, began to question them 
concerning their work. 

“Are you nearly finished with your collec¬ 
tion?” 

The boys in turn were forced to smile at 
this. “No, sir,” quietly replied Paul, “we ’re 
merely at the beginning. There are several 
months’ work still ahead.” 

“Too bad, too bad,” grumbled the old man, 
forcing back a twinkle which had crept into 
his eyes. “A very important matter has come 
up which requires immediate attention, and 
I hoped you would be far enough along—” 

“We are, sir,” eagerly broke in Fred; “we 
can leave at any time you say.” 

“But, my dear boys, you still have your col¬ 
lection to work up. Are you willing to leave 
it to some other man?” 


20 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“B-but, sir—” began Fred. 

“There, there, I see you are not. Too bad; 
you were the very persons to undertake the 
job.” 

“What do you wish us to do?” bravely in¬ 
quired Paul, swallowing hard. 

“Nothing, sir; oh, nothing at all. It 
does n’t matter; I will send some one else.” 

“But I’m sure, sir, we could—” began both 
lads at once. 

Dr. Keene slapped his knee and broke into a 
roar of laughter. “Of course you can!” he 
chuckled. “But you must let an old man have 
his joke. Your collection can wait. I’m go¬ 
ing to send you away at the first of the week.” 

“You don’t mean, sir, that we ’re to be dis¬ 
charged?” came the anxious query from Fred. 

“Bless your heart, no!” answered the old 
gentleman with another chuckle. “I am go¬ 
ing to send you both to Florida; or, rather, I 
will give you a leave of absence to do so if 
you desire.” 

“Florida?” 

“Yes, gentlemen, you will prepare to go 
south on a short collecting expedition. That 


REWARD FOR A PARRAKEET 21 


means supplies and all perquisites for a month 
in the field. You don’t need to be advised in 
that respect. Here is the why and wherefore 
of t;he trip. 

“At a recent meeting of the United Orni¬ 
thological Societies a question was brought 
up concerning the Carolina parrakeet, now 
supposed to be extinct. The last of these 
birds ever authentically seen was in the Ever¬ 
glades some twelve or fifteen years ago when 
a small flock of about a score were observed 
in the northerly part of that swamp region. 
From that day to this not a single specimen 
has been reported. The chances are a hun¬ 
dred to one that they are entirely extinct, 
though fifty years ago they were common 
even as far north as the Virginian coast.” 

“Why, sir—” interrupted Fred; but Dr. 
Keene cut him short with a wave of the hand, 
and continued: 

“The U. O. S. have offered a prize of five 
thousand dollars to the person or persons who 
can offer proof that the parrakeets still exist; 
and that is the object of this expedition. Both 
of you are in need of a vacation, and I thought 


22 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

that you might be willing to spend it in 
Florida for the sake of earning—that is, if you 
are fortunate enough to discover the birds— 
five thousand dollars. What do you think of 
it?” 

“Great!” cried Fat, almost in a joyous shout. 
“When did you say that we ’d better start, Dr. 
Keene?” 

“As soon as possible, Paul. If the birds 
are there, the sooner you locate them the bet¬ 
ter off you will be. Both the Union Museum 
and the big museum in Chicago are sending 
men, so it will be a race between you. May 
the best one prosper, and, remember, it is as 
much for the honor of our own museum as 
for the money that you go. And, another 
thing, don’t forget that the parrakeets are 
probably extinct and that all three expeditions 
are likely to meet with failure.” 

“Not ours, sir!” eagerly cried Fred. “The 
parrakeets are there; I know it!” 

“It *s well to be optimistic,” smiled the doc¬ 
tor. 

“Of course I’m optimistic, and I’ve good 
reason to be,” returned the boy with happy 


REWARD FOR A PARRAKEET 23 

emphasis. “I say those birds are not extinct!” 

“How do you know?” queried the man, a 
bit puzzled by the boy’s earnestness. 

“I’ve seen a comparatively fresh skin of one 
this very day!” 

The doctor almost bounded from his chair 
in astonishment. “What do you mean?” he 
demanded, now almost as excited as Fred. 

“The wings and part of the skin came to the 
laboratory from the custom-house this after¬ 
noon, mixed with a lot of red egret plumes 
and miscellaneous feathers. We were just ex¬ 
amining it when you sent for us.” 

“You are sure of its identity?” roared Dr. 
Keene. 

“Positive, sir.” 

“By Jove, sir, then that settles it! If that 
skin did n’t come from the last living parra- 
keet, then there must be others. You don’t 
know exactly where it did come from?” 

“No, sir, but we know positively that it 
came from Florida.” 

“All right, then, Fred and Paul, get ready 
to start as soon as you are able. We ’ll keep 
the secret of that skin dark for the present. If 


24 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

it became public property, the Everglades 
would be overrun in a week with people try¬ 
ing to earn that five thousand dollars. We 
want you to bring back with you a single skin 
if there are enough birds that one may be 
spared, and, if not, photographs. Now get 
along with you; and hurry!” 


CHAPTER III 


OFF FOR THE EVERGLADES 

T HE boys did hurry. They hastened 
back to the laboratory and, without 
loss of a moment, proceeded to return 
their South American collection to a series of 
moth-proof lockers and drawers from which 
it had been taken earlier in the day. Satisfied 
that the material would remain there un¬ 
touched during their prolonged absence, they 
next gave attention to the more important sub¬ 
ject on hand. The plumes from the custom¬ 
house still remained scattered over the long 
counter which acted as a desk. Picking up 
the partial skin of the Carolina parrakeet, 
Fred was about to shuffle all the rest into a pile 
when Paul held his hand. 

“Hold on there, Skinny,” he said; “these 
feathers are n’t in the same position as when 
we left.” 


25 


26 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“What’s the matter with them?” demanded 
the other, in surprise. 

“Don’t you remember? the aigrets were in 
one pile, and now they ’re scattered all over 
the place. And the parrakeet wings were n’t 
down there at the end of the counter; they 
were chucked right in front of your place. 
You tossed them there yourself when we were 
called away.” 

Fred studied the counter intently, striving 
to recall the exact arrangement of it contents 
as he had left them. 

“I believe you ’re right, you old eagle-eye,” 
he finally admitted. “The heron wings are 
scattered, too. Somebody has been snoopin’ 
around, but I guess they did n’t take anything. 
Probably one of the men from the other 
rooms. He came in to see how we were get¬ 
ting on, and, finding we were absent, looked 
things over a bit, just as you or I would do; 
that’s the answer. We ’ll send in our report 
on the plumes and keep the parrakeet skin, 
turning back all the rest. The museum is al¬ 
lowed to hold out anything it wants, you know, 


OFF FOR THE EVERGLADES 27 

provided it is property that has been confis¬ 
cated.” 

The wings of the parrakeet and their few 
adhering shreds of skin were placed in a 
drawer separate from the rest of the collec¬ 
tion, and the remainder of the plumes were 
bundled up preparatory to being returned to 
the inspector who had brought them and who 
still remained in the building. 

“Now, what’s the dope on our trip?” in¬ 
quired Paul in a businesslike voice when this 
duty was concluded. “To what part of 
Florida do we go, and how?” 

“To the Everglades, I suppose,” was the un¬ 
certain rejoinder, “though exactly where, I 
don’t know. The thing to do is to pick out a 
place which we can use as a base, and then 
head out from there. As for getting to 
Florida, the train is the quickest route.” 

He walked across the room to a shelf on 
which were piled sheaves of various colored 
pamphlets. Selecting one with a blue cover, 
he returned to his chum. The booklet proved 
to be a folded map, and this he spread on the 


28 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


counter in front of them. The two fell into 
an absorbing study of the geography of the 
State of Florida. 

“There are the Glades,” declared Fred, in¬ 
dicating a section of the map with his finger, 
“down at the southern extremity of the penin¬ 
sula. Miami, over on the east coast, is al¬ 
most on the center line. On the west coast 
there seem to be a number of rivers, mostly 
named after the men who discovered them, I 
suppose—Allen, Turner, Barnes, and a dozen 
others.” 

“Whew, here’s a jaw-cracker for you!” 
ejaculated Paul. “Listen: the Fahkahrat- 
cheea River! You have to be taken with a 
bad cold before you can say it right.” 

“And here’s another,” grinned Fred, “Lake 
Okeechobee, up at the northern part of the 
Everglades. They’re Indian names; Semi¬ 
nole, I guess, for that is the only tribe which 
inhabits that region.” 

“They must be an unhealthy lot,” Fat mut¬ 
tered. 

“How do you make that out?” curiously de¬ 
manded his companion. 


OFF FOR THE EVERGLADES 29 

“From the names they give places,” was the 
cool response. “They must pretty near sneeze 
to death every time they talk.” 

Fred chuckled and continued to study the 
map. “There don’t seem to be many towns 
on the west coast,” he presently observed. 

“They ’re all concentrated along the Atlan¬ 
tic seaboard. Hold on a minute; here’s one 
called Everglade over near the gulf coast and 
another just below it called Chokoloskee—” 

He was interrupted by a grunt of disgust 
from Paul. Unheeding, he continued: 

“There’s another named Thrasher, and one 
called Survey.” 

“What was that last?” suddenly demanded 
the other lad. 

“Survey.” 

“No, I mean the one before that.” 

“Thrasher? What do you want? Why, 
that’s so!” 

The man whom they had rescued from be- 
ing ground beneath the wheels of the flying 
hook-and-ladder several weeks ago had come 
from that town. 

“That’s the place!” cried Fat, sitting back 


30 


THE LAST PARRAKEET 


in his chair and banging the counter with his 
fist. “Mr.—Mr.—what was his name?” 

“Whitehouse?” 

“Yes, that’s it. He invited us to visit him 
and stay as long as we wanted, remember?” 

“Of course I do! That’s where we ’ll go, 
Fat. We ’ll telegraph him to-night, and 
ought to receive an answer by to-morrow or 
next day.” 

They fell to studying the map with in¬ 
creased ardor. Thrasher appeared to be situ¬ 
ated toward the center of the peninsula not 
far from the Everglades proper and about 
twenty or thirty miles south of Lake Okeecho¬ 
bee, an ideal spot for their base. But the 
ranch had its drawbacks. 

“There’s no railroad within thirty miles of 
the place!” mournfully stated Paul, when he 
had in vain searched the map for the telltale 
crooked black line. “The Atlantic Coast 
Line runs only to Fort Myers, and there seems 
to be a branch running over toward that un¬ 
pronounceable lake you tried to name a while 
ago; that’s all. It stops before it gets there, 


OFF FOR THE EVERGLADES 31 

and it looks as if the rest of the journey had to 
be made on foot.” 

“There must be roads,” suggested Fred, 
“and we can hire a wagon of some sort to cart 
our things. I vote we make a try at it.” 

“I suppose we’d better,” grumbled the 
other, though with a good-natured gleam in 
his eye. “I always did hate walkin’; but, still, 
business is business. Think Mr. Whitehouse 
really meant it when he asked us to come?” 

Fred nodded as if certain on that subject. 

“But to make sure,” he added, “we ’ll get a 
telegram off as soon as possible. In the mean 
time we might as well start getting our stuff 
together. Shot-guns are all the firearms we ’ll 
need for the trip. You go ahead and gather 
up what forceps and scalpels will be 
necessary, and all that sort of stuff while I slip 
down to the Penn Station to make reservations 
for to-morrow night. There’s no need of 
waiting until Monday, do you think?” 

“No, I should say not!” the other pro¬ 
nounced decidedly. “The sooner we ’re off 
the better. Dr. Keene gave us plenty of lee- 


32 


THE LAST PARRAKEET 


way in regard to that; but don’t forget that 
we ’ll have to await an answer to the telegram 
and it may not come for two days.” 

“That’s right,” agreed Fred. “I’d forgot¬ 
ten it. I ’ll make a reservation for to-morrow 
and one for the day after, and we can cancel 
the one we don’t need. And one more thing, 
Fat: you might see if the four-by-five camera 
is all right while I’m gone. I ’ll buy a gross 
of plates when I’m down town and have ’em 
sent right up.” 

He turned to hurry from the room, but 
scarcely had he reached the door when he was 
startled by an excited whoop from Paul. He 
whirled, and in a second was back at his 
chum’s side. 

“What’s the matter, Fat?” he cried in a 
tone of amazement not unmingled with alarm. 
“What’s happened? Are you in pain?” 

For a moment Fat was unable to answer. 
He merely stuttered and waved his hands in¬ 
anely about. His round face was as red as a 
beet and his blue eyes flashed with excitement. 

“What’s the matter?” again demanded 


OFF FOR THE EVERGLADES 33 

Fred, entirely at a loss at this sudden change 
in his chum. 

“D-don’t make t-the second r-reservation!” 
the latter finally managed to stutter. “We ’re 
goin’ to-morrow night!” 

“What?” came from his puzzled com¬ 
panion. 

“To-morrow night, I tell you!” roared Paul, 
who had now regained the full use of his lungs. 
“Don’t wait for the answer to the telegram; 
we ’re goin’, anyway!” 

“Are you crazy?” 

“No, they’re there! They’re there, I 
say; and we ’re goin’!” 

“Of course they are, and of course we are 
going,” soothed Fred. What a terrible 
calamity had happened. The mind of his 
chum had given away! 

“You’d better come down town with me, 
Fat,” he continued kindly. “We ’ll go home 
first and then to the station later.” 

At this Fat broke into a roar of laughter. 
“Do you really think I’ve gone crazy, old 
Skinny Shanks?” he chuckled, slapping the 


34 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

other on the back. “I ’m not, but don’t you 
remember Mr. Whitehouse telling all about 
the things that inhabit the Everglades, all 
the alligators, the wildcats, the herons, and 
the parrakeets? Remember now?” 

For answer Fred gave a shout which in 
comparison made Fat’s first whoop sound like 
a feeble cap-pistol fired during a barrage of 
seventy-fives. As if hurled by a hidden 
spring, he jumped for the door. With a part¬ 
ing “I’m on my way!” he slammed it behind 
him, and Paul heard his feet doing a hurried 
tattoo down the long corridor. 


CHAPTER IV 


AN UNPLEASANT GREETING 

S EVENTY-TWO hours after the event 
just narrated the young collectors dis¬ 
embarked from their Pullman at Fort 
Myers. Only one incident had marred their 
journey, and that was soon forgotten in the 
pleasure obtained from watching the ever- 
changing panorama from the car window. 
South Carolina, with its vast stretches of im¬ 
penetrable moss-hung cypress swamps, had 
been traversed; Georgia, with its flat, inter¬ 
minable miles of pines, had swept by; and 
finally the train had drawn into the city of 
Jacksonville, Fk)rida. 

As here there was a full hour to wait until 
the Flyer started for points farther south, the 
boys decided upon a walk to stretch their legs 
and freshen their muscles; but just as they 
were on the verge of leaving their seats, they 

35 


36 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

were surprised by a voice calling for Mr. Fred 
Milton. A small uniformed messenger-boy, 
black as a lump of tar, entered the car and, 
casting a sharp glance at its occupants, ad¬ 
vanced down the aisle in their direction. 

“Mistah Milton; telegram fo’ Mistah Mil- 
ton!” 

“Guess that’s me,” Fred muttered in aside 
to his companion, and, holding out his hand, 
called, “Here you are, boy!” 

The messenger gave Fred a shrewd, pierc¬ 
ing glance, and shook his head, showing a full 
set of ivory teeth in a grin which slit his small 
face completely across. “No, suh,” he said, 
“this hyar is fo’ Mistah Milton.” 

“I am Mr. Milton,” Fred quietly answered. 

“Sho’, are yo’, now? Why, yo’ is only a 
boy. I’m suah yo’ is—” 

“He’s Mr. Milton, all right,” cut in Paul, 
hurriedly, for a titter could be heard coming 
from other occupants of the car. “Give him 
the telegram and wait to see if there is an an¬ 
swer.” 

The boy, with evident hesitation, handed 


AN UNPLEASANT GREETING 37 

Fred the yellow envelope, and, shaking his 
head dubiously, stood to one side while the 
latter perused its contents. Having scanned 
the type-written words, Fred handed the tele¬ 
gram to Paul, who studied it with rising 
puzzlement stamped on his round, cherubic 
face. This is what he saw: 

Did you take parrakeet skin with you? If 
not, where did you store it? 

Paul read this aloud, and dropped the mis¬ 
sive to stare at his chum. The telegram was 
signed by Dr. Keene. 

“W-what does he mean?” he stammered. 

“It’s lost!” was the short response, and, 
without loss of words, requesting a blank from 
the young negro, Fred dashed off a message 
to the head of the museum in which he stated 
that the skin had been left in a certain locker 
in the laboratory. When the messenger-boy 
had betaken himself off, enriched by half a 
dollar, and grinning from ear to ear, the two 
stared at each other for a moment without 
further comment. 


38 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“How could it be lost when it’s in that 
locker?” finally demanded Paul in a befud¬ 
dled tone. “I put it there myself, and Dr. 
Keene knows where it is.” 

“That’s just the point,” gravely declared 
Fred. “Dr. Keene must have looked there 
and failed to find it. That’s the reason for 
the telegram; he thinks that, at the last mo¬ 
ment, we may have taken it with us. Some¬ 
body else has taken it, Fat!” 

“But who could possibly know we had it?” 
the other persisted. “Dr. Keene is the only 
person outside ourselves who knows that such 
a fresh skin exists.” 

“Somebody examined the plumes while we 
were in Dr. Keene’s office, don’t you remem¬ 
ber?” 

“By Jove,” exclaimed Fat, “that’s so! 
Whoever looked those over is the person who 
has taken the parrakeet!” 

“That must be it,” agreed the other. “And, 
after all, I don’t suppose the loss is so very 
serious.” 

“Not serious?” half shouted Paul. “Why, 
it may lose us five thousand dollars! That 



“W-What does he mean ?” he stammered 










AN UNPLEASANT GREETING 39 

skin is almost fresh, and any unscrupulous per¬ 
son could easily palm it off as being collected 
by himself within the last month. Not seri¬ 
ous? I call it a black catastrophe!” 

There was no denying the truth of Paul’s 
words. In improper hands, the possession of 
those wings might spell disaster to the expedi¬ 
tion and the death-knell to their hopes for the 
reward. 

“If the skin really has been stolen and later 
is submitted to the societies, our only hope re¬ 
mains in Dr. Keene,” acknowledged Fred. 
“He knows about it, and, although he has n’t 
seen it, he could at least hold up the awarding 
of the prize until we get back.” 

After a long and tedious trip from Jackson¬ 
ville, they at length reached Fort Myers, 
where cars were changed, and they embarked 
on one of the small branch railroads in which 
Florida abounds. The thirty miles traversed 
in this proved the longest they had ever under¬ 
taken in a train. 

It was by the merest chance that they caught 
the train at all that day in Fort Myers, there 
being no regular schedule on the line worthy 


4 o THE LAST PARRAKEET 

of mention. An engine and two passenger- 
coaches were supposed to leave the Fort at six 
o’clock each morning, but lack of steam, or a 
derailment farther along the line, or a burnt 
bridge, a fallen tree, or any one of a hundred 
other possibilities generally necessitated a de¬ 
lay; any train might be from two to twenty- 
four hours behind its schedule. Fortunately 
for the travelers, on the day in question, it was 
merely a hot-box incurred the previous eve¬ 
ning which had inflicted some slight damage, 
and by noon fhe little “special” was ready to 
proceed. 

When Fort Myers finally was left behind, 
the young collectors felt that the end of the 
journey was in sight. The country through 
which the “special” crawled at a fifteen-mile 
gait was flat, sandy, and covered for the most 
part with a straggling pine forest carpeted 
with pine-needles and low, bushy palmettos. 
It stretched for an interminable distance, far¬ 
ther than the eye could penetrate through the 
hot smoky haze, the sultry atmosphere of a 
Floridian spring. The dreary, uninviting 
sameness of it cooled the ardor of the travelers. 


AN UNPLEASANT GREETING 41 

But there were breaks in the monotony. At 
rare intervals, which became more frequent 
as they advanced toward the interior, the track 
led over small creeks where verdure abounded 
in true tropical luxury, where gaunt, enor¬ 
mous cypress-trees, spangled and laced with 
streamers of silvery moss, reared tall crowns 
skyward above the smaller pines, and the 
bright green live-oaks interlocked over the 
narrow waters. Here taller palms of the cab¬ 
bage variety rose above the ragged groups of 
stunted palmettos. Great ferns fringed the 
banks, and here and there a stately royal palm 
sent up its shaft-like trunk to rival the tallest 
cypress. On the whole, however, it was an 
uninviting region as viewed from a car win¬ 
dow, barren pine-land and ridden with bleak, 
tree-filled swamps. 

With scarcely a single exception the pines 
had been striped and gashed for pitch 
from which to manufacture turpentine. The 
trunks on opposite sides were torn free of 
bark for varying distances, the gashes some¬ 
times reaching six feet or more from the 
ground. Driven into the yellow exposed 


42 


THE LAST PARRAKEET 


surface projected strips of tin to act as spouts 
to catch the sap and direct it into long narrow 
receptacles of burned clay which hung be¬ 
neath. When these were filled their contents 
would be scooped out and transported to a 
central station set up in the midst of the forest 
There, after the turpentine had been distilled 
off from a huge vatful, the residue would re¬ 
main as resin. 

During the course of the journey the train 
pulled by one of these distilling-stations, and 
the boys sighed when they saw the acre upon 
acre of barrels—thousands of them—lying on 
their sides filled with resin and awaiting trans¬ 
portation. 

“If the people continue tapping the pines at 
that rate, there soon won’t be any trees left to 
tap,” Paul observed with conviction, and he 
was right. The State of Florida has been 
largely denuded of its forests by seekers for 
turpentine, and it is safe to say that fifty years 
more will see the last of the pines. The proc¬ 
ess of extracting the sap in present use is fatal 
to the tree, as sure death to it as if the tree were 
chopped off short with an ax; but it takes 



AN UNPLEASANT GREETING 43 

longer. The larger, more sturdy specimens 
live for years under the unremitting strain on 
their systems, but in the end all succumb unless 
first converted into lumber. Little by little 
the lower branches rot off, then those higher 
up; and finally the top turns brown and dies. 
It has become a custom to lumber off the forest 
just before the trees begin to die, but millions 
of the trees are tapped when too young and 
are therefore worthless as timber. They 
shrivel and die before their more hardy com¬ 
panions are ready for the ax. Great open 
glades have thus formed in the once dense for¬ 
est, which now at best is a thin, sparse, uneven 
growth. It is a waste, sheer unmitigated 
destruction, but the tapping will go on until 
the end is reached; for turpentine is a most 
necessary essential oil to civilization. 

The train crept on through this devastated 
region until at last, at five o’clock, the travel¬ 
ers reached their destination. And what a 
fitting climax it was to such a journey! There 
was no town. The station consisted of a 
tumble-down open shed with a rusty corru¬ 
gated iron roof which opened to the blue sky 


44 


THE LAST PARRAKEET 


in a dozen places. A large weather-beaten 
house stood a hundred yards away. It was 
built of clapboards innocent of the touch of a 
paint-brush, with a roof of tin, colored red. 
Running across in front was a large porch al¬ 
most level with the ground, on which were 
scattered half a dozen chairs in a high state of 
ruin. A narrow road of white sand ran by 
both house and station, and, suddenly curving, 
became lost in the darkness of the pine forest. 
This was the settlement. 

Not a soul occupied the station as the train 
faltered to a standstill. The boys stepped 
out carrying their hand luggage, and saw 
that their trunk had preceded them from 
the forlorn baggage-car. Scarcely had they 
set foot on the uneven mass of cinders which 
formed the station platform than the “spe¬ 
cial,” in a cloud of steam from a leaky 
cylinder-head, an outburst of asthmatic 
wheezes, and the clatter of loosened brakes, 
rumbled off, and, like the village main street, 
became lost in the pine-land. The end of the 
railroad journey was indeed reached. 

For a minute or two the travelers spoke not 


AN UNPLEASANT GREETING 45 

a word, so awed were they by the dreary at¬ 
mosphere of the place. No vehicle was in 
sight, no person, no sign of humanity save the 
ramshackle house in the background. They 
seemed as definitely cut off from civilization 
as if they had been at the head-waters of the 
Amazon. A satirical grin spread over Paul’s 
rubicund countenance as he stared at the 
weather-beaten sign which hung from the 
eaves of the shed and on which he faintly dis¬ 
cerned the printed name “Prosperity.” 

“Prosperity?” he chuckled, wryly. “Say, 
Skinny, what’s in a name? If this is Pros¬ 
perity, what must the city of Calamity be 
like?” 

Fred smiled and agreed that the settlement 
did not have the appearance of a booming 
town; and then he dubiously inquired, glanc¬ 
ing at the empty road and the uninviting 
house: 

“What’s next on the program?” 

“Dunno,” grinned Fat with unfailing 
spirits; “it looks as if we’d have to pitch camp 
right here and wait until some one comes 
along. Mr. Whitehouse telegraphed that 


46 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

he ’d meet us here, but I reckon he’s lost 
track of the train. We might see if we can 
arouse somebody in that house.” 

They walked down the dusty road and 
mounted the rickety step that led to the 
equally rickety porch. The place appeared 
deserted, but, undaunted, the boys banged 
heavily on the door with their fists. 

“Nobody’s home, I guess,” decided Fat, 
and they were about to leave the porch when, 
to their joy, the door slowly opened. A man 
stepped out and carefully closed it behind 
him. 

“Good evening,” said Fred. “We thought 
no one was at home.” 

The man said nothing, but stood looking 
them over slowly from head to foot, as if they 
had been a foreign species. He was tall 
and thin, and wholly unprepossessing. His 
clothes, a dirty white shirt and a pair of torn, 
baggy trowsers, were unfit to grace the body 
of a tramp. A battered straw hat sagged over 
one eye; his face was covered with a black, 
straggly, unkempt beard, which thought¬ 
fully hid the ugly features beneath; and one 


AN UNPLEASANT GREETING 47 

eye was missing—it was almost hidden by the 
hat. The other, watery green though it was, 
glittered with unconfined wickedness as it 
glared at the new-comers. In one hand he 
held a Winchester rifle. 

“Er-er, good evening,” stuttered Fat, clear¬ 
ing his throat and throwing a doubtful glance 
at the weapon. 

“What are yo’ all doin’ hyar?” growled the 
man in an uncompromising voice, throwing 
the rifle across his arm in a threatening atti¬ 
tude. “Who are yo’ and what do yo’ all 
want?” 

The man’s good eye traveled beyond them 
and rapidly took in the station shed, the forest, 
and the road that wound beyond. Appar¬ 
ently satisfied at what he saw, he repeated his 
questions. 

“We came on the train,” answered Fred, in¬ 
dicating their trunks and bags, which still re¬ 
posed near the shed. “We expected some 
one to meet us, but as he is n’t here, we are 
looking for a place to spend the night. Can 
you put us up?” 

The request was met with a snarl. “No, 


48 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

suh! Yo’ cyan’t sleep in this hyar house. 
What’s yo’ names, and who are yo’ lookin’ 
fo’ ?” 

“It’s unnecessary to tell you that,” Fred 
soberly retorted, though his cheeks reddened 
at the surliness of the man and his inhospitable 
reception of their request for a night’s lodging. 
“If you can’t put us up, that’s all there is to it.” 

“No it ain’t,” rumbled the disagreeable 
creature—he could hardly be called a man— 
fixing the boys with his glittering eye. 
“What’s yo’ name, and what do yo’ all 
want?” 

“I told you—” began Fred, but was inter¬ 
rupted by his chum. 

“We are expecting a friend of ours, Mr. 
Whitehouse, to meet us,” he said shortly, and, 
turning, with a word to Fred, started to leave 
the porch. 

An exclamation from the stranger caused 
them to face around. At the name of White- 
house, his whole attitude had altered. Be¬ 
fore, he had been calm enough, albeit surly, 
but now he seemed to radiate rage from his 
entire being. His lone eye fairly bfored the 


AN UNPLEASANT GREETING 49 

boys through and through; his whole body 
quivered; his hands shook; and he partly 
raised the rifle. 

“A friend of yo’s!” he half shouted. “Hyar 
yo’, a friend of yo’s! I’d kill any— 

“Jest drap that rifle, and let’s talk it over a 
bit!” a voice interrupted from the far side of 
the veranda. “Drap it, I say, and be quick 
about it!” 

A man stepped out from the cover of the 
side of the house and advanced toward the 
trio on the porch with a pistol in his hand, 
which he kept aimed at the owner of the rifle. 
The rifle clattered to the floor, and, with an 
oath, the man with fhe frowzy beard stepped 
back a pace. The new-comer strode up to 
him, placed his foot on the rifle, and, still 
watching his enemy, spoke to the boys. 

“Are yuh all Fred Milton and Paul Jen¬ 
kins? Mr. Whitehouse is expectin’ yuh, an’ 
sent me down to collect yuh. He was per- 
vented from cornin’ hisself account o’ hurtin’ 
his arm. I’m his head man, Jeff Down, an’ 
I ’ll lead yuh along jest as soon as I fix this 
hyar diamond-back. 


50 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“Can either of yuh drive a flivver? Yuh 
can? That’s fine! She’s down the road a 
piece. Go fetch her and get yo’ stuff aboard, 
an’ then meet me hyar.” 


CHAPTER V 


JEFF DOWN 

D UMFOUNDED, the boys left the 
porch and hastened down the road 
in the direction indicated by Jeff 
Down. They caught a fleeting glimpse of the 
one-eyed ruffian backed against the door, with 
their new friend standing before him waving 
his pistol and talking; then a corner of the 
house shut out the sight. 

“He’s what I call a bad customer!” ex¬ 
claimed Paul, breathing a sigh of relief when 
they were safely away. “What do you sup¬ 
pose got into him? We certainly weren’t 
lookin’ for trouble, and there he comes 
pointin’ his rifle at us and acting as if he was 
about to murder us. Yes-, sir, he’s a desperate 
character!” 

“He looked it,” agreed Fred, with a nod. 

“I thought he really was going to shoot when 

that chap Down appeared. If the country’s 

51 


52 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

full of ruffians like him, Fat, it looks as if we 
might have an exciting time of it here. And 
all for no reason, so far as I could see.’’ 

11 And didn’t Jeff Down handle him most 
beautifully, Skinny?” chuckled the other, fast 
recovering his spirits. “The one-eyed chap 
just wilted right down; and so would I if some 
one pointed a pistol at me in that manner. I 
hope he doesn’t break loose from Jeff until 
we get our things loaded into the car.” 

They discovered the small Ford truck half- 
hidden in a thicket of low palmettos around 
a turn in the narrow road, and in a few sec¬ 
onds, with Fred at the wheel, were plowing 
through the sand past the house toward the 
shed. As they swung by the porch they be¬ 
held Down and his victim in the same attitude 
as ten minutes before. The little car chugged 
and spluttered down to the shed and in five 
minutes was back, fuming and rattling, in 
front of the house. 

“All ready, Mr. Down,” shouted Fred, 
throttling down the engine. “What’s the next 

thing to do?” 

For answer, Down picked up the fallen rifle 


JEFF DOWN 53 

and, with his pistol, motioned the disgruntled 
ruffian out into the road beside the car. 

“Going to take him along?” Paul asked. 

“No, suh! We ain’t goin’ to dirty the cyar 
up with no sech vermin as him. He ’ll stay 
right hyar.” 

With these words Down climbed into the 
truck, carrying the newly acquired rifle with 
him. He was clad in faded khaki riding- 
breeches and a blue flannel shirt which served 
to reveal the lithe muscling of the body be¬ 
neath. He was thin and tall, six foot one in 
his stockings, and must have tipped the scales 
at 175 pounds. Not an ounce of superfluous 
flesh was wasted on his supple body. His 
face was tanned to the shade of cordovan by 
long exposure to the weather, and his gray 
eyes, stern in time of need, held an habitual 
humorous glint. He was a superior type of 
Floridian “cracker.” 

Jeff took the steering-wheel. His enemy 
stood glaring after him as, with a more de¬ 
termined stutter than ever, the yellow jitney- 
bus jerked forward. As it swept around the 
dilapidated house the boys looked back in time 


54 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

to see the ruffian raise a fist and impotently 
shake it in their direction. Then he was lost 
in a cloud of dust. 

“Who was he?” demanded Fred, after they 
had proceeded a short distance in silence. 

“A leetle bit of low-down trash,” was the 
answer. 

“What’s his name?” 

“Dan Boulton.” 

“Why was he so rough on us?” 

“I reckon yuh must have told him that yuh 
was friendly with Mr. Whitehouse, did n’t 
yuh now?” 

The boys nodded vigorously. “Of course we 
did,” declared Paul. “He seemed so suspi¬ 
cious, and I thought the mention of Mr. 
Whitehouse would smooth things over a bit.” 

Jeff Down broke into a roar of laughter. 
“Yeow,” he chuckled, “so yuh thought it 
would smooth things, did yuh? Sort o’ re¬ 
acted different, did n’t he, than yuh thought 
he would?” 

Fat ruefully acknowledged that this had 
been the case, and Jeff Down renewed his 


JEFF DOWN 55 

mirth. Presently, when able to articulate 
with some degree of freedom, he said: 

“Of course he did. Him and Mr. White- 
house are about as friendly as a hen and a 
wildcat. Yuh see, it’s this way: The 
Thrasher ranch comprises about fifty thousand 
acres, which is quite a bit o’ land, yuh ’ll admit 
—runs from about five miles below hyar clear 
down into the Everglades. As yuh can see 
from the country around hyar—his is mostly 
like this, all pine forest, cypress swamp, ham¬ 
mocks, and palmettos—it ain’t exactly what 
yuh’d call overburdened with verdure for 
cattle grazin’. Howsomever, his bulls an’ 
steers manage to git along without starvin’. 

“But when other men turn thar cattle loose 
in the territory it makes the feed come scarcer 
than ever, so thar’s nothin’ to do but keep the 
other cattle off. The land belongs to Mr. 
Whitehouse, so what does he do but run a wire 
fence around it. That alone is quite some 
job, thar bein’ more ’n a hundred mile of it, 
but no sooner do we git it done than other 
cattle men begin cuttin’ it to let thar cattle 



5 6 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

through. Mr. Whitehouse is an easy-goin’ 
sort o’ man, an’ fo’ a while he don’t do nothin’ 
but patch up* the fence where it’s cut. 

“Things go along in that way fo’ near on a 
year, an’ the old man begins to git peeved. 
Then one day I find a stretch of five mile 
wiped out, stakes an’ wire clean swept away 
an’ buried somewhere. Well, say, that jest 
about finishes Mr. Whitehouse’s good temper. 
Right then an’ thar he declares war on the 
wire-cutters. And let me tell yuh, when he 
gits riled up, thar ain’t no stoppin’ him. As 
a result, thar’s been a leetle blood-lettin’ on 
both sides, an’ the wire-cutters are gittin’ 
scarce around hyar. Fo’ the last six months 
they’ve found this bit o’ country mighty un¬ 
healthy, a leetle mo’ than they could stand.” 

Intensely interested, Fred inquired, “Why 
did n’t Mr. Whitehouse appeal for protection 
from the State or county?” 

Jeff spat over the running-board of the car 
and chuckled dryly. “Thar ain’t no pertec- 
tion in this hyar State,” he declared. 

“Surely you can have the lawbreakers 
arrested and tried.” 


57 


JEFF DOWN 

But Jeff shook his head. “No, suh, that’s 
jest what yuh cyan’t. Speak about yo’ rotten 
politics in other States, well, jest let me tell 
yuh that alongside the State o’ Florida the 
other States are jest like Sunday-school to a 
gamblin’-den. Thar ain’t no sech thing as 
straight politics hyar. Thar may be a few 
honest men in the government who ain’t 
crooked, but they mostly keep away from these 
hyar parts. No, suh, and thar ain’t no sech 
thing as a square deal in the county courts 
either. Yuh cayn’t find a jury that ’ll convict 
a wire-cutter. Cause why? Half of ’em are 
wire-cutters themselves. The sheriff, he ain’t 
goin’ to arrest no one, cause if he does, that 
man’s brother or uncle or cousin ’ll git him 
later, jest as sure as shootin’; an’ that’s the way 
it generally ends. No, suh, Mr. Whitehouse 
tried the courts, but didn’t git no satisfaction 
that-a-way.” 

“I suppose Boulton is a wire-cutter?” in¬ 
quired Fred. “Is that what makes him so 
bitter toward Mr. Whitehouse?” 

“It sho’ is. Dan Boulton is, or uster be, a 
big cattle owner about hyar. When the old 


5 8 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

man took up the Thrasher, he bought him out 
an’ Dan left the country. Bimeby he came 
back dead broke, and that’s the time the worst 
wire-cuttin’ commenced. We had a leetle 
scrimmage along the line one night last fall, 
an’ Dan, he lost an eye, as yuh may have 
noticed. He holds it up against the old man 
fo’ that, and has sworn to shoot him on sight. 
That’s all thar is to that.” 

“But don’t they hang a man down here for 
killing people?” amazedly demanded Paul. 

“Sho’, no!” shrugged the man; “only nig¬ 
gers when they attack white folk. They 
might say something if it war done in the big 
towns, but out hyar in the country, no, suh. 
Did n’t I tell yuh the sheriff ain’t goin’ to 
arrest no one who’s got relatives who says he 
shaVt? Yuh ’ve got to take the law into yo’ 
own hands hyar.” 

“Well, that beats me!” murmured Paul. 
“Do you mean to say that you could have shot 
Boulton and no one would have said anything 
about it?” 

“Course I could, in self-defense, but I don’t 
like shootin’ unless I have to do it. If we’d 


JEFF DOWN 59 

known he war goin’ to be in Prosperity, we’d 
’a’ telegraphed yuh to git off the station befo\ 
None of us are lookin’ fo’ trouble.” 

At the close of this amazing discourse the 
boys rode for several miles without speech. 
Here, indeed, was food for thought. What 
kind of an uncivilized region was this? Even 
in the interior of the vast Amazonian wilder¬ 
ness there had been a greater semblance of 
law and order; there, at least, one savage 
Indian respected the rights of another; 
whereas here, in the civilized State of Florida, 
in their own United States, the reverse ap¬ 
peared to be true. And they had the evidence 
of their own eyes to prove it. 

Five miles from Prosperity, Down stopped 
the car at a gate that swung across the mouth 
of a side road, and dismounted. Flinging it 
open, he motioned Fred to drive through, and 
then, as it clanged to, he again mounted beside 
them. They had entered the outposts of the 
Thrasher ranch. 

The pine forest continued here, and the 
trees were larger than those noticed from the 
train windows. Thus far they had been left 


6o THE LAST PARRAKEET 


unmarred by turpentine hunters. Apparently 
the forest had been overlooked by the ax of 
the lumberman and grew in all virgin luxuri¬ 
ance. And scattered, feeding in twos and 
threes on the coarse verdure that littered the 
forest floor, were numerous small, lean cattle. 

It was spring of the year, and, though the 
northern migration was well under way, the 
trees were still full of birds. Robins flew 
about in scores; great pileated woodpeckers 
called hoarsely from the tree-tops; flickers 
courted on the lower limbs; and the car 
flushed a covey of quail for every quarter of a 
mile progressed. Once it startled a rabbit, 
which darted across the road and became lost 
in a clump of palmettos. And again it passed 
a slough where stood a tall dignified Ward’s 
heron fishing alone in solitary grandeur. 

The miles sped by. A long black-snake 
wriggled almost from beneath the wheels. 
The light vehicle bounced from side to side, 
now plunging through white sand which rose 
almost to the hubs, now tearing over a road 
hidden by growths of palmetto and a coarse 
sedge. The character of the country altered. 


6i 


JEFF DOWN 

The pine forest became broken by great 
stretches of cypress swamp, where the gaunt 
trunks and branches were festooned with pale- 
green, needle-like leaves and long straggling 
tufts of Spanish moss. These morasses in 
turn gave way to open glades a-sparkle with 
pink and white flowers, and a species of sedge 
that grew in luxurious abundance. They 
passed a pond nestling in the center of a glade 
a mile in diameter, from which rose a score of 
little herons, colored both white and blue. A 
large, long-necked bird, as big as a duck, and 
as awkward, half fell from a dead tree-top 
and then soared around the glade, rising 
higher and higher with each revolution, until 
it looked not larger than a sparrow high up 
in the sky. 

Fred nudged his chum and pointed to this 
disappearing object. “Recognize that, Fat?” 
he asked. 

“Looks like a snake-bird,” nodded the other, 
“an anhinga or water-turkey. I wonder if 
it’s the same species as the one found in 
Demerara? There, look at him, he’s cornin’ 
down!” 


62 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


The anhinga circled lower just as it had 
gone up, fluttering, then soaring, and flutter¬ 
ing again. Each revolution carried it closer 
to the ground until, with a frantic beating of 
wings, it alighted on the same tree vacated a 
few minutes before. 

“This country looks good to me,” declared 
Fat in a voice ringing with enthusiasm. “It’s 
ideal for all kinds of birds and animals. The 
forest is alive with birds, and these open glade- 
swamps seem literally crawling with life. It 
certainly looks better than it did from the 
train!” Then, bethinking himself of their 
errand, he asked: 

“Do you ever see any parrakeets here, Mr. 
Down?” 

“No, suh, not nowadays. I ain’t seen one 
fo’ near on a year now, though thar uster be 
thousands of ’em. And you’d better call me 
Jeff. I ain’t got no mister to my name, to my 
friends.” 

“All right, Jeff,” grinned the boy, “I don’t 
like the mister business either. But I’m 
sorry to hear you say that there are n’t any 


JEFF DOWN 63 

parrakeets left. Those are what we came 
down here to find.” 

“Well, thar may be, Mr. Jenkins—” 

“Steady on there, Jeff,” the boy interrupted; 
“my name is Paul, and my friends call me Fat, 
and this long-legged chap by my side is com¬ 
monly known as Skinny. There’s no mister 
to our names either.” 

“Very well, Fat, I was goin’ to say thar may 
be some left a few mile further south in the 
Everglades proper. If they’ve only quit 
cornin’ hyar fo’ a year, thar must be some left 
down thar, don’t yuh think?” 

“I hope so,” heartily agreed the boys, “be¬ 
cause we sure do want to see one alive.” 


CHAPTER VI 


THE THRASHER 


OW far is it now to the ranch- 
house?” Fred presently inquired. 
“Only about a mile,” Jeff replied. 
“Hyar comes Mr. Whitehouse, a-ridin’ horse¬ 



back.” 

The ranch owner was delighted to see the 
boys and offered his apologies for not meeting 
them in person at the train. He was mounted 
on a big bay horse, which pranced nervously 
at the sight of the automobile, but, although 
the left arm of the rider hung in a sling, he 
seemed to have little difficulty in controlling 
the beast with his good right hand. Urging 
his steed forward, he reined up beside the car, 
which had drawn to a standstill. 

“Well, Mistah Milton and Mistah Jen¬ 
kins,” he greeted the boys with a smile of wel¬ 
come, “so you really meant it when you tele- 

64 





THE THRASHER 65 

graphed you were coming. I am glad to see 
you. You are most welcome to Thrasher.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Whitehouse,” replied 
Fred, who with his chum had climbed to the 
ground. “We have been looking forward to 
the visit and are more than glad to get here.’ 1 
Then, with a look of concern at his host, he 
added: “I’m sorry, sir, to see that you’ve 
hurt your arm. I hope it’s not bad?” 

“Poo,h, suh, it’s nothing at all, suh. I met 
with a slight accident about a week ago; noth¬ 
ing worth mention. Did you have a pleasant 
trip?” 

“Quite entertaining, at any rate,” smiled the 
boy. “We had an exciting experience at the 
station, and met an acquaintance of yours, a 
certain Dan Boulton.” 

The face of the old gentleman hardened at 
sound of the name, and his eyes took on an un¬ 
wonted, stony glint that had hitherto been ab¬ 
sent. An expression of concern crossed his 
features. 

“I hope you had no trouble,” he said, 
quietly. 

“None at all, thanks to Jeff here. The man 


66 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

did sort of take us by surprise, though,” and 
Fred narrated their adventure. 

“He is a bad one,” declared Mr. White- 
house when the tale was concluded. “He is 
a man whom it is best either to shoot or avoid 
entirely. But he won’t bother you any in this 
neighborhood; you may rest assuahed of that. 
You had better drive on to the house now, and 
I will trot after.” 

It was well-nigh dusk when the truck drew 
up before a long, low rambling structure set 
in an open glade in the forest. Surrounding 
it, and placed deeper antong the trees were a 
dozen smaller houses, quarters of the ranch- 
hands. A great barn, half hidden by the 
pines, stood a quarter of a mile back. 

The main house, the home of Mr. White- 
house, was a one-story shingled bungalow. 
From time to time he evidently had added to 
it until now its numerous wings, its low gables, 
and screened porches gave it a great, comfort¬ 
able, home-like appearance. The grounds, 
large and grassy, were dotted with orange- 
trees hung with bright golden fruit. Vines of 
Virginia creeper, wistaria, and vivid orange- 


THE THRASHER 67 

blooming bignonia covered the porches and 
climbed to the shingled roof. On the lawn, 
scattered among the oranges, were small 
groups of cabbage palmettos, and, running 
from the rear of the house to inclose the serv¬ 
ants’ quarters, was a tall hedge of kumquats 
heavily laden with small oval fruit. 

Nor were the new arrivals disappointed 
with the interior of the house. It was all that 
the outside view promised it to be. The rooms 
were large, well lighted by numerous win¬ 
dows, airy. The furnishings were rich, 
but not gaudy, and gave evidence of the good 
ta 9 te of their owner. As Paul expressed it, 
there was sufficient room to breathe in that 
house, yet it was all comfortable and cozy. 

The lads were shown to their room by an 
aged darky who occupied the place of confi¬ 
dential servant to Mr. Whitehouse. His hair, 
snow-white as his master’s, still retained its 
negro crinkle; his coal-black race, deep- 
seamed by time, was kind in expression, and 
his dark eyes sparkled with the same hospi¬ 
table light already discovered by the visitors 
in the eyes of their host. 


68 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


“Marse Robert tole me put yo’ in dat dar 
room,” the negro chuckled, pointing to a door 
opposite the one to which they had been led, 
“but Ah say dat no git de wes’ breeze, so 
Uncle Billy put yo’ in hyar. Yo’ chiles like 
big room with plenty coolness, Uncle Billy 
know, hee-hee, so hyar yo*’ is. If yo’ whant 
anyt’ing jest yo’ call yo’ Uncle Billy.” 

With that the kind-hearted black left the 
room and the boys to their own devices. Five 
minutes later he reentered with their bags and 
directed two small, half-grown darkies to de¬ 
posit their trunk in the corner. 

“Hab a care how yo’ handle dat dar ward¬ 
robe, yo’ little debbils,” he cautioned severely, 
as one of the boys made as if to drop his end. 
“Hyar yo’, ain’t yo’ no strenf ? Is yo’ growin’ 
so weak dat yo’ cayn’t lift a straw, yo’ good-fo’- 
nothin’ nigger? Yo’ be careful dar! Doan’t 
yo’ know dat’s dese gen’lemen’s propriety? 
If yo’ should drap dat, it would cost yo’ a 
billion dollars. . . . Come on, come on, does 
yo’ whant yo’ Uncle Billy t’ do it? Dar, dat’s 
better; now git out o’ hyar, yo’ inauspicious 


THE THRASHER 69 

pickaninnies; git befo’ Ah fo’git mas’lf an’ 
lambaste yo’ with mah cane.” 

As, grinning from ear to ear, the two chore- 
boys withdrew, Uncle Billy turned to Fred 
and Paul with an apologetic laugh. “Ah’s 
sorry, suhs, to hab to introduct dose indecent 
niggers into yo’ presence, but it became a nec¬ 
essary on account o’ dat dar trunk. Yo’ ole 
Uncle Billy ain’t quite so spry as he uster 
been.” 

“We ’ll try to forgive you this time, Uncle 
Billy,” smiled Paul. “T must say that, for 
all your years, you don’t seem to be much of a 
cripple,” indicating the two large satchels 
which Uncle Billy had himself carried in. 
“Have you charge of the whole house?” 

“Yes, suh; yes, suh! Ah take command o’ 
de whole caboodle. Marse Robert could n’t 
git along without Uncle Billy, suh. Ah’s 
head man, Ah is; Ah makes all de niggers 
toe de rope, Ah does. Ah makes ’em all perse¬ 
vere, an’ dey know it.” 

“You must be an invaluable person to Mr. 
Whitehouse,” agreed. Fred, trying to keep his 


70 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

face straight and succeeding after a fash¬ 
ion. 

“Ah is a most voluble persun, suh,” nodded 
the darky, highly pleased. “When dat pore, 
low-down white trash, Dan Boulton, shoot 
Marse Robert, Ah nuss him through until he 
git better. Yes, suh, Ah’s—” 

“So Boulton shot Mr. Whitehouse, did he?” 
interposed Paul. “When did that happen, 
Uncle Billy?” 

“Last week, suh, in de arm. It ain’t quite 
better yet. Uncle Billy, he—” 

“How did it happen?” 

“Dat good-f’-nothin’ Dan Boulton git cut- 
tin’ too much wire around hyar an’ git druv 
away last year. At dat time he git hurt and 
swar dat he guine git Marse Robert. Well, 
he git him last week from behint a bunch of 
palmettos ’bout five mile from hyar. He ain’t 
hit Marse Robert hard, but just enough 
t’ make him mad. Dan .Boulton git away 
though Marse try hard to stop um.” 

“I should think they would throw Boulton 
into prison for that.” 


THE THRASHER 


7 1 


“Prisum, suh? Dar ain’t no jail hyar. 
Marse Robert, he doan’t—” 

“Hyar, Uncle Billy,” sternly interrupted 
the voice of their host, as Mr. Whitehouse en¬ 
tered the room, “hyar, you black ace of spades, 
are you talking again? Get out of hyar and 
leave my guests in peace.” 

Rolling his eyes in pretended terror, never¬ 
theless with a grin which slit his face asunder, 
Uncle Billy withdrew. He had known his 
“Marse Robert” from childhood, and ages 
ago, nearly sixty years, he had learned that his 
master’s bark was far more severe than his 
bite. 

“You mustn’t believe one tenth what that 
boy, Uncle Billy, says,” Mr. Whitehou 9 e in¬ 
formed his young guests with twinkling eyes, 
leading the way into his library. “If he can 
find some one to listen to him, he will talk for 
hours—worse than a phonograph.” 

“Now, my lads,” he informed them with 
true Floridian hospitality when they were 
seated, “I desire to inform you that this house 
and all it contains, together with the entire 


72 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

ranch, are yo’s to command. I am deeply in¬ 
terested in yo’ search and when you tell me 
more exactly what you are after, I will do 
what I can to aid you.” 

“We deeply appreciate your kindness, Mr. 
Whitehouse,” quietly replied Fred, as formal 
as their host, “and we accept your hospitality 
with pleasure. The object of our expedition 
to the Everglades is to find a living Carolina 
parrakeet,” and he launched forth into the 
story of the reward, the scarcity of the bird, 
and the probable failure of their expedition, 
not forgetting to mention the loss of the skin 
from the museum in New York. Mr. White- 
house listened attentively, gravely nodding 
from time to time. 

“We will talk further on the subject after 
dinner, if you young gentlemen don’t mind,” 
he presently said, and, rising, led the way to 
the spacious dining-room. 

At the close of a most sumptuous meal, over 
which hovered Uncle Billy, clad in a dark 
cutaway coat with scarlet waistcoat and highly 
polished brass buttons, they pushed back 
their chairs, and their host lighted a cigar. 


THE THRASHER 


73 


During the meal they had talked on every 
other subject under the sun but the parrakeets. 
The boys in turn had entertained their host 
with tales of adventure in South America, and 
the latter had narrated several anecdotes of 
the ranch and the country in which they now 
found themselves. Having finished their 
coffee, they sat silent for a few moments. 

“I distinctly remembah noticing a pair of 
parrakeets almost exactly a year ago,” Mr. 
Whitehouse presently remarked. Then, see¬ 
ing the interest lighting the eyes of his guests, 
he continued: “My head man, Jeff Down, 
pointed them out on the top of a cypress at the 
edge of a swamp some twenty miles from hyar. 
I remembah we were quite excited over it, fo’ 
they have become scarce of late years and it 
seemed like a sign that they were coming back 
again.” 

“Have you seen any since?” eagerly ques¬ 
tioned Paul. 

“No, suh, those were the last, I’m sorry to 
say, but I’m morally certain that a few may 
still be found a few miles south of hyar in the 
Glades. I suppose you ’re anxious to start 





74 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

right out after them?” he inquired with a 
smile. 

“Yes, sir; that is, no, sir,” stammered Fred. 
“We would very much like to see your ranch 
first.” 

“All in good time, gentlemen,” replied the 
host, still smiling. “That can rest until you 
return from yo’ trip. I know you are dying 
to start right out in the morning.” 

“Oh, no, sir, we ’d—” 

“Come now,” Whitehouse chuckled, “own 
up. You would not enjoy yourselves fo’ one 
second hyar unless you first had a try fo’ the 
birds. Come, own up!” 

“Well, you see, sir—” 

“I knew it!” The old gentleman slapped 
his knee with his unwounded hand. “If you 
were not so eager to win that race I would n’t 
feel like helping you so much. From what 
you tell me, you are running a kind of race 
with other parties, who may also be looking 
for the birds. Is n’t that so?” 

The boys nodded. 

“Well,” continued their host, “go in and 
win it. And that reminds me: Word came 


THE THRASHER 


75 


this morning from one of my southern bound¬ 
ary men that a queer bug-hunter, as he termed 
him, had been inquiring about parrots. That 
means you had better get busy right soon.” 

“It most certainly does!” Fred declared in 
an alarmed tone. “We Ve got to get on the 
job right away, if that’s the case.” 

“Yes, suh, it is, and I would advise starting 
out first thing in the morning; not that I want 
to drive you away from hyar,” he added with 
a quiet laugh, “but I want to see you win the 
race. Jeff will accompany you to the Glades, 
and I reckon you can do the rest yo’selves.” 

“Thank you, sir,” murmured the boys grate¬ 
fully. 

“You can have the little Ford jitney for yo’ 
tent and luggage,” Mr. Whitehouse contin¬ 
ued. “I will telephone to all my outpost 
houses to give you help if you should call fo’ 
it. Provisions, weapons if you need them, 
and a collapsible canoe will be waiting in the 
truck in the morning. I am backing you to 
win, and you Ve got to do it.” 

“We ’ll do our best,” was the firm response. 
“At what time in the morning?” 


76 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“At daylight, suhs. Jeff Down will drive 
you to the spot where we saw the birds last 
year, which is within my boundaries, and he 
will remain there with you to establish a camp. 
He must leave the following morning, and 
you can arrange when he is to call for you.” 

Worn out from their recent journey, the 
boys retired early, but before daylight fully 
broke the next morning they had finished 
breakfast and stood in front of the bungalow 
ready for departure. The sun had just ap¬ 
peared above the tops of the tall pines when 
Jeff drove up with the car. 

“All aboard fo’ the Glades!” he shouted 
cheerily, making the motor hum and bringing 
the car to a sudden stop in front of them. “Git 
them things aboard, Uncle Billy, and be quick 
about it, yuh black rascal.” 

The boys shook hands with Mr. White- 
house and climbed into the vehicle. They 
were clothed now in khaki, with leather put¬ 
tees and flannel shirts. Both were armed 
with shot-guns. Their trunk remained be¬ 
hind in the bungalow, and their bags alone 
were placed in the automobile. They had 


THE THRASHER 


77 

stripped down to the barest necessities for 
field service. 

“Let her go, Jeff,” said Fred. 

“Good-by and good luck!” called the old 
gentleman, waving his hand as they sped down 
the sandy road; and at last the hunt for the 
Carolina parrakeets was actually under way. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE CAMP 

IT 'THERE are we headed for now?” 

% / Paul asked Jeff, when the houses 

V T were hidden by the trees. 

“Anywhar yuh say,” was the good-natured 
response. “Yuh are the bosses. I should say 
we travel south fo’ about twenty mile until we 
git within the Glades, and then simply git out 
an’ hunt.” 

“That’s the idea,” the boys enthusiastically 
agreed. “But can we get there in the car?” 

“Surest thing yuh know. This hyar car 
will go anywhar a horse will. It don’t mind 
a bit o’ underbrush more ’n a steer. We ’ll 
jest plow along until we hit the swampy 
region.” 

“How about horses?” ventured Paul. 
“Don’t you think we ’ll need some?” 

“Ef yuh want them yuh can have them, but 

78 


THE OAMP 


79 

I reckon this hyar car an’ the canoe will be all 
the transportation yuh ’ll need.” 

“Well, lead on, Jeff; we ’re in your hands.” 

The forest, as a continuous belt of pines, 
suddenly melted when they had proceeded two 
miles from the bungalow. The road, a mere 
wagon-track through the wilderness, wound 
between long stretches of open marsh. Green 
islands of low trees rose from these, sur¬ 
mounted here and there by a tall cypress or 
the tufted head of a cabbage-palm. The 
meadows were dotted with cattle, knee-deep 
in the water, browsing blissfully on the rank 
grass that grew there. 

After six miles of open country they drew 
into a second pine forest. Here the land was 
higher and the trees had firmer root. Ten 
miles more again found them in the open, 
with the trail six inches under water, and well 
nigh obliterated by matted sedge, but with a 
hard sandy bottom. Unmindful of these ob¬ 
structions, Jeff drove the car forward, bump¬ 
ing over ruts and sloshing through water-holes 
as if they did not exist. 

Presently, to the unaccustomed eyes of the 


80 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

boys, the trail entirely disappeared, but still 
the engine chugged on. They plunged 
through the center of a half-mile of open lake; 
so, it seemed, and momentarily the travelers 
expected to be engulfed in some hidden sink¬ 
hole. But Down knew what he was doing, 
and, to their great relief, landed them safe on 
the other side, on one of the green islands that 
dotted the expanse. 

“Whew, Jeff,” murmured Paul, drawing a 
sigh of relief, when at length he saw dry land 
about them, “that was some trip! Weren’t 
you afraid of being mired?” 

“No, suh,” laughed the man, “I’ve traveled 
this hyar road befo’. This island is whar Mr. 
Whitehouse and I last saw them parrakeets, 
an’ hyar is whar yuh ought to make yo’ camp.” 

Much rejoiced that the precarious journey 
was over, the boys agreed that the island was 
an ideal place. Terrifying visions of more 
shallow lakes to ford in the car left them, and 
they breathed deep satisfaction at their deliv¬ 
erance. Such motoring had never before 
come within their experience. 

Without more ado they dismounted. So 


THE CAMP 


81 


great was their eagerness to begin the hunt 
that, without wasting a thought on the estab¬ 
lishment of a camp, they picked up their shot¬ 
guns and prepared to explore the region. 
Camp could wait, but the parrakeets could 
not. 

“Hyar, yuh young fellers, yuh seem to be in 
a powerful mint o’ hurry,” their guide de¬ 
murred good-naturedly. “How about fixin’ 
up the tent? Hyar, hold on, yuh’d better wait 
fo’ me. This hyar country ain’t quite so safe 
as it looks. Thar ’$ plenty o’ sink-holes 
around that yuh might fall into, and ef yuh 
should happen to git mixed in yo’ direction, it 
would be right hard to find yo’ way back to 
this hyar island, they mostly look so alike. Ef 
yuh ’re so sot on goin’ right now, yuh’d better 
let me steer yuh around a bit until yuh git 
used to it.” 

“I guess you ’re right, Jeff, about arranging 
camp first,” Fred was compelled to acknowl¬ 
edge, controlling for the moment his ardor as 
a collector. “Suppose we do that, and then 
you can steer us around. We don’t want to 
get lost t;he first day out. Fat and I have had 


82 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


some little experience in traveling through 
the wilderness, but it was in a different type of 
country from this.” 

“That so?” answered Jeff, much interested. 

The boys told him about their journey in 
South America, and thereafter he treated 
them with increased respect. 

“That relieves me a whole lot,” he observed. 
“I war afraid yuh was kind o’ green at the 
game, but neow I reckon yuh all can take care 
o’ yo’selves. Still, I reckon for a while it 
would be safer to stick together.” 

They selected a camp-site under a huge 
spreading live-oak. The tree, though scarcely 
fifty feet in height, shaded an expanse fully 
twice that far across, and the branches 
drooped to within ten feet of the ground. The 
soil beneath was as bare as if scraped with a 
knife. 

Just beyond the tree the land sloped steeply 
down into a deep slough choked with broad¬ 
leaved water-lilies which grew from the 
water, not upon it, and were sprinkled with 
yellow, waxy blossoms. In the center of the 
slough, a hundred feet from shore, stood a 


THE CAMP 


83 

small grassy island of long, needle-like 
pickerel-weed mingled with arrow-heads and 
other water-plants. Beyond was a mass of 
small, tree-clad islands similar to the one on 
which they stood, but of lesser magnitude. 

“It looks like a great resort for alligators,” 
remarked Paul, taking in the tropical scene 
before him. “I suppose there are plenty 
around here, Jeff?” 

“Yes, suh, thar are hundreds of ’em. 
Thar’s one neow, a small one, stickin’ his snout 
up on to the bank hyar.” He pointed to a 
seeming log that drifted in the water scarcely 
twenty feet from them. The saurian must 
have heard Jeff’s words, for it opened a pair 
of evil yellow eyes, blinked, and, with a snort 
and a swirl, disappeared beneath the surface. 

“Yes, suh, thar’s plenty of ’em around,” 
continued the man, “But they don’t touch no 
one who don’t bother them. Leastways, I 
never hear o’ any one gittin’ hurt by ’em ex¬ 
cept when they’ve got powerful riled up.” 

“Plenty of game, too,” stated Paul, indicat¬ 
ing some tracks in the soft ground near the 
water. “Deer, Jeff?” 


84 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“Loads of ’em.” 

“And wild turkeys,” added Fred, picking 
up a large feather. 

“Yes, suh, they ’re common. It’s breedin’- 
time fo’ them neow.” 

“But where are the parrakeets?” asked 
Paul. 

“Yuh ’ll have ter hunt them,” was the smil¬ 
ing retort. “Now, what do yuh say to pitchin’ 
the tent befo’ we do anything else, an’ gittin’ 
things fixed up shipshape?” 

“How about some grub first?” hopefully in¬ 
quired Fat, rubbing his stomach, in which 
there was an aching, hollow void. “Here it 
is nearly three o’clock and we haven’t had a 
mouthful.” 

“I reckon yuh ’re right,” agreed the man in 
an apologetic tone. “I’d clean forgotten 
that.” 

They made a hasty meal from sandwiches 
the thoughtful Uncle Billy had put up, and 
then fell to work on the tent. In a very short 
time this had been erected, and sufficient wood 
to last for the night was collected. The tent 
being too small to hold* them, together with all 


THE CAMP 


85 

the paraphernalia, a low shed was hastily con¬ 
structed, roofed with palm-fronds, which 
would shelter the less perishable instruments. 
The camera and plates, however, were placed 
under canvas. 

When the camp was set up to their satisfac¬ 
tion, Jeff motioned toward the canoe, whidh 
had been unloaded from the car and lay on 
the ground. 

“Yuh ’ll need this hyar contraption,” he de¬ 
clared, “so I reckon we’d better unfold it an’ 
put it together.” 

The canoe was built of canvas, being held 
in shape by a collapsible framework that 
could be folded up like a camp-stool. When 
stretched out and fit for service, it was about 
sixteen feet long by three in breadth, and quite 
seaworthy, though not exactly graceful in ap¬ 
pearance. Jeff dragged the little vessel down 
to the edge of the slough and turned to his 
companions. 

“I perpose we visit some o’ the other islands 
in this hyar neighborhood,” he said, “jest to 
git acquainted. Thar’s nigh two hour to 
sundown, so I reckon thar ’ll be plenty 0’ time. 


86 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


Come on, climb in. Yuh say the parrakeets 
ain’t been seen fo’ fifteen year or mo’, but I 
seen ’em last year, and they ought to be stickin’ 
around still. I’m goin’ ter show ’em to yuh.” 

They embarked in the frail craft, and Jeff 
guided them skilfully through the lily-choked 
slough. The pace was slow, because of the 
dense growth of the water-plants that they had 
to penetrate, and at times it became necessary 
to use the pole that Jeff had cut. 

Twice alligators were seen, which plunged 
away at their approach, and once in an open 
pool a huge fish splashed them with its spray 
as it leaped from the water. 

“What do you call that, Jeff?” inquired Fat, 
who was interested in fish of all kinds, wiping 
the drops from his eyes. 

“That’s nothin’ but one o’ those hyar bass,” 
was the careless answer. 

“Bass? What kind do you mean?” 

“Huh? I don’t know, it’s jest a bass.” 

“Large-mouth,” interjected Fred. 

“Is that so?” cried his chum in a tone of dis¬ 
belief. “Large-mouth bass in Florida? No 
bass that I ever saw grew as big as that!” 


THE CAMP 87 

“He warn’t a big one,” vouchsafed Jeff in¬ 
differently. 

“Not a big one? Why, he must have 
weighed seven or eight pounds!” 

“I expect he did,” retorted the man, “but 
that ain’t nothin’ fo’ these hyar waters. I 
done speared one over twenty pounds, an’ I 
heard 0’ one that weighed more ’n twenty- 
five.” 1 

“Good Lord,” muttered Paul in amazement, 
“and up north we think six pounds is a whale 
of a bass! I’m goin’ fishin’ in a little 
while!” 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE HERON MEADOW 

T HE canoe drew up to the nearest 
wooded island, and its occupants pre¬ 
pared to disembark. This island was 
identical with others they could see, small and 
covered with a dense mass of brush matted to¬ 
gether with interwoven vines. The only tree 
of normal size was a royal palm, which reared 
its fronded crown sixty feet above the rest. 

“Watch whar yuh walk,” cautioned their 
guide. “Thar’s plenty o’ snakes around hyar, 
so be careful yuh don’t tread on a cottonmouth 
or a diamond-back. They ’re liable to treat 
yuh kinda rough.” 

“Snakes?” exclaimed Fat, drawing back 
into t,h,e canoe with a shiver. “Are there 
many here, Jeff? I hate ’em!” 

“Jest watch whar yuh’re goin’, an’ they’ll 
git out o’ yo’ way. Wow, look out!” 

It was not a snake that was about to lunge 

88 


THE HERON MEADOW 89 

at an occupant of the canoe, but merely Fat 
who was on the verge of taking an unlooked- 
for plunge into the slough. As Fred and the 
guide stepped from the frail craft, Paul, in the 
stern where he had remained, saw the bow pop 
into the air. His great weight had driven the 
rear end down, causing the vessel to assume an 
angle of forty-five degrees, with him at the 
lowest point. 

“Grab the bow!” he gasped, making frantic 
efforts with his paddle to maintain his equi¬ 
librium. 

“Haw-haw-haw!” bellowed Skinny, dou¬ 
bling up, and making no move to rescue his 
desperate chum. 

“Hyar yuh are,” said Jeff, chuckling aloud, 
but nevertheless seizing the unruly bow. 
“Step ashore neow. By the Lord Harry, yo’ 
extra size almost told agin yuh that time!” 

Fat climbed shakily to the bank and vouch¬ 
safed not a glance at his laughing chum. 
There was nothing funny about the incident 
that he could see. 

“Thank you, Jeff,” he said in a cool tone. 
“Now, when that gobbling turkey over there 


9 o THE LAST PARRAKEET 

gets through his noise, we can explore this is¬ 
land.” 

The guide led the way through the tangle 
of brush to the far side of the island. The 
boys saw nothing that resembled a parrot, 
though they startled from the bushes dozens 
of red cardinal-birds and scores of finches. 

“This does n’t look like much of a 
place for them,” Paul declared, when they had 
reached the other side. “As I remember 
parrakeets in South America, they generally 
were found either in low fruit-trees or in the 
tops of great forest giants. That royal palm 
is the only thing that can be dignified as a tree; 
all the rest are bushes; so I vote we try that 
piece of forest over there.” 

He pointed to a large tract of rising land 
fringed with palms, which lay several hun¬ 
dred yards off to the southward and appeared 
to be mainly composed of live-o.aks or trees of 
similar leafy character. Intervening, how¬ 
ever, was a flat, seemingly dry meadow 
covered with tall grass. An inspection of 
this open space caused him to catch his breath. 

“Look at those herons, Skinny!” he gasped, 


THE HERON MEADOW 


9i 


forgetting in his excitement his estrangement 
from his chum. “Just look at ’em, will you! 
Did you ever see the likes of that?” 

The exclamations were not without reason. 
Over an area of several acres the ground was 
literally covered with birds. Tall ones, little 
ones, blue, white and parti-colored they were 
as thick on the meadow as the grains on an 
ear of corn. They paid not the slightest at¬ 
tention to the spectators but continued to feed, 
quarrel, and court as if there had not been a 
human being within miles. The trio watched 
entranced. 

“Six — seven — eight — nine!” enthusiasti¬ 
cally counted Fred. “There are nine kinds 
there, Fat! Jove, what a bird paradise this 
is! If it wasn’t for the parrakeets, I’d be 
willing to stay here a year. Just look at ’em, 
will you! The little and big white egrets, 
the Ward’s herons, the little blues and greens 
—and the great white heron! And there’s 
the Louisiana, the one that looks like the little 
blue heron, only larger and more graceful! 
And there’s—” 


“There’s three quawks flying over there!” 




92 


THE LAST PARRAKEET 


Fat interrupted excitedly. “Just plain, every¬ 
day black-crowned night herons! And what 
are those great big white cusses, Skinny, 
with the black heads and necks? Those are 
the ones I mean; the fellers that make such a 
gobbling noise and flap their wings faster than 
herons. Gemini, I believe they ’re—” 

“Hammerheads,” said Jeff. 

“Wood-ibises,” agreed Fred. 

“They ’re a species of stork,” he continued, 
“with long, downward curved bills like true 
ibises. They ’re supposed to be growing 
scarce, but there seems to be plenty on this 
meadow.” 

“And what’s that big bluish-gray bird ’way 
out beyond the rest and not seemin’ to pay any 
attention to them?” 

“It’s—it’s—by hicks, I do believe it’s a—” 

“What?” almost shouted Fat. 

“It’s a crane!” joyfully announced his 
chum, “a sand-hill crane! And those fellows 
are scarce! Wow, this is great!” 

For nearly half an hour the boys, fascinated, 
watched the ever-changing scene before them. 
The marsh-birds did not remain stationary, 


THE HERON MEADOW 


93 


but time and again took flight, whole swarms 
at a time, as if at a given signal. Around and 
around t;hey circled, chattering, squalling, and 
honking, the heavens teeming with them, and 
then alighted in the identical sector just 
vacated. Or it might be a round dozen who 
flew, several species intermingled, but they in¬ 
variably returned to their starting-point. 

“I thought those chaps were nesting now,” 
observed Fat. “That being the case, why are 
they all out on the meadow like that?” 

“Some are nestin’ an’ some ain’t,” Jeff in¬ 
formed him. “I reckon some o’ them egrets 
are, an’ perhaps some o’ those little blue 
fellers, but most are done finished. A good 
many start breedin’ in Febuary, though some 
don’t make it until April, but it’s May neow, 
yuh know.” 

“But the egret plumes? If they were nest¬ 
ing now, you ought to see the plumes on their 
backs, should n’t you. That’s what I’ve al¬ 
ways thought.” 

“No, suh; the plumes are thar, layin’ close 
down against thar backs so’s yuh cyan’t see 
them until yuh git closer than we are. It’s 


94 


THE LAST PARRAKEET 


only when they ’re courtin’ that the feathers 
stick up, an’ then it’s a beautiful sight. When 
Mrs. Egret meets Mr. Egret nyar thar nest, 
then each sticks up thar plumes in greetin’, as 
it war; but when they’re feedin’ on the 
meader, they ’re very exclusive an’ keep ’em 
flat down.” 

“Hum,” grunted Fat, disappointed. “I was 
hoping to see the plumes in action.” 

“So yuh may. Jest watch ’em close for a 
while. Sometimes Mr. Egret gits sort o’ love¬ 
sick even while he’s feedin’, an’ makes up to 
the missis. Thar, see that?” 

One of the smaller white birds suddenly be¬ 
gan bowing and scraping like an old-fashioned 
beau. A demure little bifd beside it became 
affected in a similar manner. Backward and 
forward they minced, and sideways; and then 
the watchers drew a quick breath. Out had 
flashed the gorgeous filmy plumes up from 
their backs and forward until each bird 
seemed buried in a mass of lacy fringe. Then 
down sank the plumes, and up sprang their 
owners to wing their way homeward to a hid¬ 
den nest. 


THE HERON MEADOW 


95 

“Gummy!” exclaimed Fred; “that was 
great! It’s a shame the plumes ever drop 
off.” 

“Yes, suh, it is!” the guide heartily agreed. 
“In a few weeks from now they ’ll all be gone, 
jest plumb drapped away, an’ the egrets ’ll be 
jest as plain as those white herons fo’ the rest 
o’ the year. Then when next breedin’-season 
arrives out they ’ll grow agin.” 

“Can you tell me, Jeff Down, how anybody 
can have the heart to shoot the birds off the 
nest just for the sake of the plumes?” ear¬ 
nestly demanded Paul. “They are the most 
gorgeous things I have ever seen.” 

“No, suh, I cannot! Thar’s bound to be 
skunks in the world jest the same as decent 
folks, an’ it’s the skunks that does it. Thar’s 
right smart of ’em around hyar, too, I’m sorry 
to say. Some men make a livin’ that-a-way, 
but I reckon most of us would rather starve 
first.” 

“And the plume-hunters actually exist in 
spite of the laws against them?” 

“They sho’ do. Thar ain’t no enforcing o’ 
the game-laws in this hyar State.” 


96 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“Well, though I hate to say it,” later de¬ 
clared Fred with a glance at the sinking sun, 
“I’m afraid it’s growing late and we ’d bet¬ 
ter return to camp.” 

“I expect yuh’re right,” admitted Jeff. 
“We’d better move back to the canoe.” 

“Wait a moment,” demanded Paul. “Look 
at the birds!” 

The herons were in the air again, circling 
and soaring, and seeming alarmed at some un¬ 
seen intrusion. Around they swept, but made 
no attempt to alight. After hovering uncer¬ 
tainly a few minutes over the feeding-ground, 
the entire flock broke up and dribbled off over 
the meadow in twos, threes, and fours. 

“What do you suppose was the reason for 
that, Jeff?” Paul inquired. “Is that the way 
they generally quit for the night?” 

“No; it war an alligator, I reckon. It 
probably sprawled out in thar midst lookin’ 
fo’ an easy mouthful, an’ frightened ’em away. 
They have a habit of doin’ that. Hold on! 
Listen to that, will yuh!” 

From afar off came the faint klee-klee of 
some startled bird. With hurriedly beating 


THE HERON MEADOW 


97 


hearts, the boys tightened their grasps on their 
shot-guns and stared in the direction of the 
sound, a sound which once heard, could never 
be forgotten. It was the cry of a parrakeet. 


CHAPTER IX 


PAUL, THE FISHERMAN 
HERE, that settles it!” exultantly cried 



Fred. “If that was n’t the call of a 


JL parrakeet, then I never heard one of 
that family before in my life!” 

“It sure was!” his companions agreed in 
one breath. 

“Then come on!” shouted Fred, hurrying 
toward the meadow which separated them 
from the forest whence rose the sound. 
“Come on; we ’ll get right after them!” 

“Whoa, thar, hold them horses o’ yourn,” 
Jeff drawled. “Of course it’s them parra- 
keets-, but it’s too late to seek ’em to-day. 
Thar, look at the sun hangin’ jest above the 
tree-tops. It ’ll be dark in an hour. Yuh all 
can git ’em to-morrer.” 

There was no denying the good sense of 
Jeff’s words. It would have been twilight 


PAUL, THE FISHERMAN 99 

before they reached the other side of the 
meadow. Therefore, grumbling, the hunters 
returned to the canoe and in ten minutes were 
back at camp. 

“If it’s too late to hunt parrakeets, it’s not 
too late to catch one of those bass we saw 
jumping a while ago,” Paul declared in a 
businesslike voice, fitting together the joints 
of a light steel casting-rod that he had insisted 
upon bringing along. “You fellows can go 
ahead with building a fire and getting the 
cooking-utensils ready, and I ’ll get you some¬ 
thing to put in ’em.” 

He selected a bright green spinner shaped 
like a torpedo and covered with hooks that 
seemed to sprout from it like the spines from 
the shell of a sea-urchin; and, having threaded 
the rod, he secured it to the end of the line. 
Making sure that the reel revolved freely, he 
embarked alone in the canoe, and slowly and 
carefully worked out toward an open pool in 
the slough. 

Paul was not an expert fisherman, but he 
was more than ordinarily fond of the sport. 
He had never before tried casting, but felt 


1 


> 5 

*5 1 ? 

k * 


> 't > 


ioo THE LAST PARRAKEET 


that, if left to work it out by himself, he could 
master the art in a very short time. Unfor¬ 
tunately for his peace of mind, however, Fred 
became interested in the piscatorial prepara¬ 
tions and accompanied him to the edge of the 
slough. There he remained, watching and 
offering uncalled-for advice, while his chum 
commenced his amateurish efforts. 

“Here, that’s not the way,” Fred called, 
when the stout lad flicked the heavy spinner 
ten feet from the canoe and stripped in the 
line by hand. “Reel in the plug until it 
dangles about a foot from the tip of the pole 
and then sling it out just as if you were throw¬ 
ing an apple with a stick. When it hits the 
water, reel in slowly.” 

Paul, realizing the logic of this, did as he 
was told. Fred, after all, seemed to hold a 
few wise thoughts in his brain. He swished 
the rod through the air with all his might. 
Nothing happened. 

“Take your thumb off the reel when the 
rod’s half-way around,” ordered Fred. 

Paul again did as he was told, and the spin- 



PAUL, THE FISHERMAN ioi 

ner sang through the air, only to catch up with 
a jerk as the reel, turning too fast, caused the 
line to back-lash. The plug fell with a splash 
amid some pickerel-weed and clung there. 
Paul busied himself with untangling the line, 
and then paddled across the pool to release 
the spinner. 

“Don’t allow it to run out so fast next 
time,” warned the other from the bank. 

“Aw, shut up!” Fat growled ungraciously, 
his patience showing signs of strain. “You 
go back to the fire, Skinny, and leave me alone. 

I can work it out by myself.” 

But Fred grinned provokingly and held his 
ground. He knew that his presence and ad¬ 
vice only served to embarrass his chum, and, 
therefore, tease that he was, he maintained * 
his position on the bank. 

Again Paul attempted a cast, this time with 
more success, and the spinner fell in open 
water. He reeled in slowly, nevertheless 
causing the paddles on the bait to twirl at 
great speed, but with barren result. Three 
times he threw and did not strike a fish. 


102 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“Better try another pool,” advised Fred, 
with a tantalizing laugh, but Fat gritted his 
teeth and in silence cast again. 

Scarcely this time had the spinner struck 
the water than the fisherman felt a sharp tug 
at the line. There was no sudden swirl or 
heavy splash, just a single hard pull. With 
a whoop of joy mingled with derision at Fred, 
he jerked the rod. Then, assured that the 
fish was hooked, he began to reel slowly in. 
The rod bent as under a great weight and the 
fish began a furious struggle. 

“That-a-boy!” encouraged Fred from the 
shore. “You got him that time, Fat! Take 
it easy; he’s a big one!” 

Inch by inch, foot by foot, the large fish 
approached ^he vessel. So strong was the 
pull that the canoe was dragged across the 
pool toward a patch of lily-pads, and the boy 
was hard put to it to prevent the line from be¬ 
coming wrapped around their stems. 

“Look out you don’t lose him in the pads,” 
warned Fred. “There, that’s right, now 
you’ve got him! Be careful he does n’t drop 
off as you lift him into the boat.” 


PAUL, THE FISHERMAN 103 

But there was small chance of losing that 
fish. Having worn the creature out until it 
lay helpless alongside the canoe, Paul, for 
lack of a landing-net, grasped the line in his 
fingers and slowly hove his catch over the gun¬ 
wale. It was heavy, and he had to pull hard. 
Up it came, and then, with a thud, landed at 
his feet. It was a small alligator! 

Paul stared at his catch in stunned amaze¬ 
ment. An alligator! From the shore came 
a whoop of utter abandon, and out of the cor¬ 
ner of his eye he saw Fred doubled up with 
mirth. He could not avoid a good-humored 
grin himself, but it was short-lived. The alli¬ 
gator, left to its own resources and recovering 
its strength, made its presence painfully felt. 

The young creature was not more than two 
feet long, but it had a large mouth and sharp 
teeth which it lost no time in using. Paul 
had stolen it; a hook of the spinner had caught 
it through the tail; and the youngster had 
come into the canoe hind side foremost. This 
reverse condition was quickly remedied, and 
the little terror sank its teeth into one of Paul’s 
tough leather shoes. 


io 4 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

Perhaps that was the most fortunate thing 
that could have occurred. The small teeth 
were not of sufficient length to penetrate deep 
into the flesh, and the reptile merely clung 
there. Clamping a precautionary hand over 
its muzzle, the fisherman released the hook 
from the leathery tail. This accomplished, 
he grasped the body just back of the head, and, 
as the alligator loosened its grip on the shoe, 
with a heave he tossed it back into the water. 
This procedure was greeted with a howl of 
delight from the figure on the bank. 

“Shut up!” Fat growled sharply, though 
with an inward chuckle. “Do you want to 
scare all the fish away, you laughing hyena?” 

“Goin’ to try it again, Fat?” hilariously 
gulped the other. 

“Of course,” was the short response. 

“You’ll probably hook a sea-cow next.” 

Disdaining to answer, Paul reeled in and 
sent the spinner hurtling over the water. He 
was becoming an expert. The piece of 
painted wood fell with a slight splash and 
slowly moved back toward the canoe. This 
time there was no mistaking the fact that he 


PAUL, THE FISHERMAN 105 

had a fish on. There came a sudden splash 
that deluged the astonished boys with spray, 
and the reel sang as the line tore through the 
little agate guides. It was no alligator. 

Despite every effort to restrain it, the reel 
continued to unwind at a perilous rate. The 
frail steel rod bent almost double as the fish 
altered its direction and darted under the 
craft. More line it took, and then all grew 
slack. The rod straightened and the boy 
gathered in a limp, weightless line. 

“Oh,” he groaned, “that’s tough luck! 
Lost him! Ouch, what’s that?” 

A great fish leaped from the water not ten 
feet from the canoe, and, vainly shaking itself 
as if to get rid of something that clung to its 
mouth, plunged back. Paul felt a slight jerk 
on the line. 

“He’s still on!” he gurgled joyfully. “And 
he’s—” 

The words were cut short by another whizz 
of the reel, and the end of the canoe shot 
around. Away rushed the fish, with the boat 
after it, across the pool and back again. The 
strain on the rod slackened, and Paul regained 


io6 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


a few yards of line. The fish plunged deep 
down into the depths. Up it came, and Paul 
reeled in more line. 

Time and again the performance was re¬ 
peated, until at last the victim rose docilely 
to the surface beside the craft. Once more 
arose that all-important question, would the 
line hold the enormous dead weight when he 
pulled the fish out of the water? Having 
learned caution from his first attempt, the boy 
leaned over the side and inspected his catch 
before hauling it in. The fish lay on its side 
apparently exhausted, with gills feebly mov¬ 
ing. 

Satisfied by what he saw, Paul grasped the 
line close to its head, and, with a heave which 
required all his strength, dragged his quarry 
from the water and allowed it to drop into 
the bottom of the canoe. Then, with a re¬ 
lieved sigh, he grasped his paddle and urged 
the craft toward shore. 

“There you are, Skinny!” he declared in 
triumphant accents as he stepped from the 
canoe. “Now you can laugh all you please!” 

But Skinny, lost in jealous amazement, was 


PAUL, THE FISHERMAN 107 

beyond words. He inspected the giant bass 
that Paul held up and stared at his chum in 
admiration. The fish was an enormous one 
of its species-, nearly three feet long, and with 
a mouth that would hold a grape-fruit. Later, 
they found that it weighed exactly fourteen 
and three quarters pounds! 

“By J ove!” Fred finally murmured, while 
they advanced in triumph toward the fire, “I 
never really half believed the stories of big 
large-mouth bass down here, but I ’m cured 
now! Golly, that’s a whopper, Fat!” 

Jeff did not seem half so impressed as had 
Fred, but nevertheless he congratulated Paul 
upon his success. When told about the alli¬ 
gator, he laughed heartily. 

After the giant fish had been cut up and 
fried in fractions, they sat around the fire eat¬ 
ing and talking. Darkness had fallen long 
ere this, and mosquitos had ventured forth in 
hordes. Jeff filled his pipe and the boys, be¬ 
tween slaps, related yarns of South America. 
Presently the man chuckled. 

“I war jest thinkin’ of that thar alligator 
Fat caught,” he explained. U I never heard 


108 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

o’ one bein’ took that-a-way befo’, though thar 
are several other methods used. Did yuh 
ever hear how them regular professionals do 
it?” 

“No; how, Jeff?” 

The man cleared his throat, and, relighting 
his pipe, began to speak. 


CHAPTER X 


THE EGRET ROOKERY 



HAR ’S several ways,” Jeff began. 
“Some fellers go around collectin’ 
’gator eggs an’ hatchin’ ’em. Yuh 
generally find the eggs in a little mound of 
sand covered with chunks o’ moss or grass 
roots, or somethin’ like that.” 

“Near large bodies of water, I suppose?” 
ventured Paul. 

“Not a-tall, not a-tall; no, suh, they’s gen¬ 
erally found back from the rivers and lakes, 
right out in the woods near cypress-swamps 
an’ the like. When the hunter finds the eggs, 
he jest fetches ’em some place whar they ’re 
safe an’ covers ’em up again, allowin’ them to 
hatch by themselves. Yuh see, they don’t 
need no mother ’gator sittin’ on ’em like a hen. 
No, suh, alligator eggs is self-incubators. 

“Another method that saves a bit o’ time is 


109 


Iio THE LAST PARRAKEET 


catchin’ ’em from the nest after they’s 
hatched. The hen ’gator builds a tunnel near 
the nest, the nest bein’ in a sort o’ boggy place 
whar thar’s water enough to half fill the tun¬ 
nel. Wfien the eggs hatch, the little ’gators 
duck into this hyar and live thar until they’ve 
growed a bit bigger. 

“Presently along comes the collector an’ 
spies the mouth of the tunnel with maybe a 
sort o’ shallow basin scooped out in front of 
it. He ain’t quite sure that Ma Alligator 
ain’t in the hole, but he takes a chance an’ 
sticks his head down in the mouth. Then he 
starts barkin' and gruntin’ fit to kill. Ef Ma 
’Gator is to home she’s liable to come out in¬ 
vestigatin’, an’ then Mr. Collector clears out 
about twice as fast as he can run. Ef she don’t 
happen to be thar, the little ones come runnin’ 
out thinkin’ he’s thar ma callin’ them, and all 
he has to do is to scoop ’em up and chuck ’em 
in a sack.” 

“Gemini,” cried Fred, “that’s a new one 
on me! Don’t they ever catch the big ones, 
Jeff?" 

“Yes, sqh, but that ain’t quite so easy. They 


THE EGRET ROOKERY 


hi 


generally loops a rope around thar heads, 
either when they ’re sleepin’ out in the sun, or 
when they come out o’ thar holes. When the 
loop tightens up, then the fun begins. Any¬ 
thing from an eight-foot ’gator up ain’t any 
weakling. When he gits his claws sot in the 
mud he’s harder to move an’ more stubborn 
than six mules. The alligator-catcher must 
be a nervy cuss. When he gits the rope 
around its head he has to step lively. The 
’gator, as soon as he finds he’s in trouble, starts 
to fight, and the collector has to sally in an’ 
wind him up with the rope. It’s a matter of 
gittin’ a half-hitch around his tail an’ drawin’ 
it to his head, but it ain’t so easy as it sounds. 
Many a feller has found that out at the cost 
of a broken leg or worse, jest from a leetle 
slap o’ that tail. 

“But when the man gits tail an’ head 
hooked together, the rest is simple. He jest 
ropes the snout together an’ ties the critter’s 
legs in a heap. Then Mr. ’Gator is finished 
so far as fightin’ ’s concerned.” 

“It’s not a sport I’d relish particularly,” 
grinned Paul, shaking his head with decision. 


112 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“No, Jeff, I’d be willing to try my hand at 
most anything else.” 

“Catchin’ diamond-backs f’ instance, or 
cottonmouths?” quizzically inquired the man. 

Paul winced. “No,” he admitted, “we ’ll 
put them on the list, too. Rattlesnakes, 
water-moccasins*, and alligators are in the ex¬ 
emption column so far as I’m concerned.” 

The conversation languished, and presently 
the boys retired to their tent. Jeff rolled him¬ 
self in a blanket beside the fire, and quickly, 
despite the swarm of droning mosquitos that 
hovered about his head, fell asleep. The oc¬ 
cupants of the tent lay for some time in their 
hammocks, which had been brought in lieu 
of cots, before they closed their eyes. Al¬ 
though they were incased in netting, the over¬ 
powering hum of insects kept them awake. 

Numerous crickets were busy, scraping 
with wing and thigh. One of those queer 
night-fowl so nearly related to the whippoor¬ 
will, a chuck-wills-widow, took its stand not 
ten feet in back of the tent on a fallen branch, 
and filled the night with its weird, oft re¬ 
peated call, chuck-wi\Ys-widow. From a 



THE EGRET ROOKERY 


113 


distant marsh came a curious gobbling, gulp¬ 
ing sound, arising from the throat of a night- 
prowling heron. A dull roar sounded from 
the slough, followed by a moan and a 
grunt. 

Paul turned uneasily in his hammock, and 
his chum heard him demand in a whisper 
what it was. Again came the sound. 

“They ’re frogs,” Fred replied, grinning at 
the other in the darkness. “They ’re just 
common ordinary bullfrogs.” 

“Come off, Skinny; what are you giving 
me?” grumbled the fat boy in a tone of disbe¬ 
lief. “Those are not like any bullfrogs I ever 
heard. They sound to me more like a flock 
of pigs.” 

“It’s the Southern variety, Fat, found here 
in Florida. There; listen to that! That’s 
an alligator.” 

All other noises were dimmed by a deep- 
throated bellow that arose from the slough. 
It was repeated once, and then the frogs again 
took up the chorus. 

At daylight the parrakeet-hunters were 
aroused by Jeff, who informed them that he 


11 4 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

must soon be leaving. After a hearty break¬ 
fast, which the boys found already prepared 
by the earlier rising “cracker,” he bade them 
farewell. 

“I hate to leave yuh,” he said, “but I reckon 
yuh can take care of yo’selves. Ef anything 
should turn up that yuh wanted to git word 
about back to the ranch, thar’s a boundary- 
house some five mile to the west o’ hyar. The 
Thrasher boundary-fence runs through that 
thar forest on the other side of the meader 
whar we saw the herons yesterday. All 
yuh Ve got to do is to follow that along until 
yuh come to the house. Thar’s a telephone 
thar, an’ the man in charge will fix yuh up in 
anything yuh want. Ef thar ’s no word to the 
contrary I ’ll be back hyar at this place day 
after to-morrer, an’ yuh can change camp ef 
yuh want to. Now, so-long.” 

Five minutes later, with a splutter from the 
engine and a lurch of the car, Jeff departed, 
and the boys found themselves alone in the 
Everglades. 

“Now I guess it’s up to us,” gravely de¬ 
clared Fred, as the swaying jitney truck drew 


THE EGRET ROOKERY 115 

out of sight. “What do you suggest, Fat, as 
the first move?” 

“There ’3 only one answer to that,” was the 
quick response. “We ’ll cross the slough and 
the heron meadow, and just gather in those 
parrakeets we heard last night. Grab the 
camera and your gun, and come on.” 

Thus, ten minutes later, they clambered into 
the canoe loaded down with shot-guns, a cam¬ 
era, a light folding tripod of aluminum, and a 
leather case filled with plates. These, all but 
the guns, they intended to cache in the forest 
until the feeding-ground of the parrakeets was 
discovered. The hunt was actually under 
way. 

Scarcely had the boys crossed the slough 
and set foot upon the island where they had 
landed the previous evening than they were 
startled by a distant, muffled booming noise. 
Hurriedly forcing a passage through the 
heavy brush, they soon stood at the edge of the 
meadow, which, as usual, was covered with 
herons of a dozen varieties. The sound they 
had heard had come from the high land on 
the other side. 


ii6 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


“What did you think it was, Fat?” asked 
Fred, gazing doubtfully at the dark line of 
trees a quarter of a mile away. 

Before his chum could answer, the silence 
was again broken, and this time by a sound 
that both recognized. It was the double re¬ 
port of a gun, and not far off. Some herons 
that flew above the trees in that direction sud¬ 
denly swerved and climbed skyward on frantic 
beating wings. 

“Some one elfse is hunting around here!” ex¬ 
claimed Paul uneasily, and, with a start, he 
held up his hand. He thought he caught the 
distant call of a parrakeet. “Did you hear 
it?” he demanded. 

Fred nodded. “It’s a parrakeet!” 

“And some one is shooting at it!” groaned 
the other. 

i 

“That’s so!” his companion muttered. 
“Suppose they—” 

His supposition was cut short by Paul, who, 
with an excited “Come on, Skinny,” departed 
across the meadow at a ponderous run. Sling¬ 
ing the camera over his shoulder, Fred 


THE EGRET ROOKERY 117 

hastened after his chum, plunging through 
the coarse grass in his wake. 

Being thinner and more wiry and longer of 
leg, Fred soon caught up with the elephantine 
leader and presently passed him. The path 
he chose was one fraught with difficulties. 
The ground, though solid to the eye, in reality 
was a shaking quagmire, cut by numerous 
rivulets underlaid with bottomless depths of 
soft, black, oozing mud. It became necessary 
to leap with great care across these lest a mis¬ 
step precipitate them bodily and without 
warning into the clinging ooze. 

From tussock to tussock they jumped, avoid¬ 
ing all open flats which might prove treacher¬ 
ous underfoot, and ever watched where 
their footsteps fell. The verdure in some 
places came to their waists and even to their 
shoulders; in others it was short and the going, 
though dangerous, was rapid. A few stunted 
bushes grew on the meadow, but otherwise it 
was bare of thickets, being thickly dotted with 
tall, graceful herons. 

Once Fred, still in the lead, leaped quickly 


ii8 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


aside, and, with the muzzle of his gun, prod¬ 
ded at a sedge clump. There followed a 
rustle, the dart of a slim dark body, and some¬ 
thing white shot from the grass and struck at 
the metal barrels. 

“A cottonmouth,” panted the boy, as the 
snake glided off into the grass. Lifting the 
gun-barrel, he pointed to several tiny drops 
of colorless moisture that adhered to the sur¬ 
face. “Poison,’ 7 he muttered, and carefully 
wiped the metal clean with blades of grass. 

Paul shuddered. Despite much and varied 
experience with snakes, he had never quite 
overcome an inborn repugnance for the rep¬ 
tiles. The cottonmouth, the deadly water- 
moccasin of the South, is one that is not calcu¬ 
lated to lessen prejudices in that direction. 
The stout boy had caught a fleeting glance 
of a pair of wide-open jaws, snow-white inside 
as a tuft of the cotton from which their owner 
takes its name, and that was sufficient. He 
felt ill, but his determination to go on was not 
lessened. 

They pressed forward. Numerous boat- 
tailed grackles, large as our own purple 






THE EGRET ROOKERY 


119 

grackle, with broad, kite-shaped tails, flew up 
ahead of them. Several small marsh-finches 
flashed up from beneath their feet. A huge 
bittern, brown speckled and barred, rose with 
a squawk from a low growth of cat-tails, star¬ 
tling them by its hurry. And out on a near-by 
flat they saw a lone Florida gallinule, slate- 
blue and red-wattled, flirting its short white 
tail-feathers as it stalked majestically from 
them into the reeds. 

Reaching higher land, the hunters plunged 
into the forest in the direction from which had 
come the shots and the call of the parrakeet. 
The trees here were different from most others 
they had thus far encountered in Florida. 
Aside from the wide-spread live-oaks were 
gumbo-limbos, with their red, papery bark 
which could be peeled like white birch, and 
from whose bark, when wounded, exudes an 
aromatic gum. There was the satinleaf, 
which has a golden brown, satin-like lining to 
its leaves; the laurel-cherry whose leaves, 
when crushed, give forth a bitter-almond odor 
like prussic acid; the wild tamarind, of fern¬ 
like foliage and white bark; the mastic or 


i2o THE LAST PARRAKEET 


wild olive-tree; the fiddlewood-tree; and the 
pigeon-plum. Many of the trees were bound 
together by thin lianas, not so large as seen in 
tropical forests, but equally tenacious. Many 
were armed with long, recurved hooks, 
which impeded progress and inflicted painful 
wounds. Spanish moss hung in profusion 
from the branches, most of which were lined 
with pineapple-like air-plants and dainty 
ferns. It was a paradise of verdure. 

But, for all the density of the forest, the 
walking was not bad. So close were the tree- 
tops in many places that there was little under¬ 
growth, and the collectors made good time. 
Hundreds of birds, robins, Southern flickers, 
blue-jays, and others, flitted through the trees 
around them, filling the woods with a pleasant 
chatter as they gathered to feed on the ripen¬ 
ing fruit of t;he gumbo-limbo. But in all the 
bird sound there was not a single note of the 
ones they sought. 

“This is the place for them,” stated Fred 
with evident satisfaction. “There is at least 
one parrakeet in these woods, for we heard it 


THE EGRET ROOKERY 


I 2 I 


after the shots. It’s the most ideal spot I Vc 
yet seen.” 

They pressed forward, skirting numerous 
swampy areas, hummocks choked with foli¬ 
age, but always maintaining the direction that 
led them toward the heart of the forest. Pres¬ 
ently the trees thinned abruptly, and they 
paused to draw breath at the edge of a large 
open glade. 

There the ground gradually fell away to 
form a watery basin about two hundred yards 
across, surrounded on all sides by the heavy 
mass of jungle. The surface of the lagoon 
was a bed of reeds, through which, here and 
there, could be caught gleams of water. 
Around its edge, with their queer, rounded 
“knees” protruding from the water at vary¬ 
ing distances from the trunks, stood a few 
cypress-trees, but the true border, on soil 
scarcely moist, was a close-growing belt of 
wild olives. Several lone cypresses and tama¬ 
rinds studded the center, rearing like tall 
sentinels to guard the contents of the lagoon. 
A few clumps of dense high brush, rounded, 


122 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


perfect islands of dark green against the 
brown of the reeds, completed the picture. 

But not quite. As the boys broke through 
the encircling border of thick, interlaced 
branches, and burst, knee-deep in water, into 
the thinner belt of cypress, their eyes were 
greeted by a sight which alone well repaid 
their journey to Florida. The islands of 
brush set in the middle of the lagoon were 
studded with scores of birds that glittered 
white in the rays of the morning sun. A 
dozen great snowy creatures, alarmed by the 
intrusion, soared majestically to the taller 
branches of the scattered trees. A large blue 
Ward’s heron flapped slowly off over the for¬ 
est. A pair of graceful long-necked, slate- 
colored birds peered defiantly at them from 
an over-hanging bough of a near-by tamarind. 
An anhinga, in uneven flight, circled the 
glade high above the trees. They had stum¬ 
bled on an egret rookery. 

Awe-struck, the boys took in the scene be¬ 
fore them, the beauty of it, the moss-spangled 
cypresses, the feathery tamarinds, the islands 
of emerald, the flashes of living light; and 


THE EGRET ROOKERY 


123 


then their eyes fell upon an object drifting 
in the water at their feet. It was white, be¬ 
draggled almost beyond recognition, and 
covered with blood—a white heron. 

An egret, actually on the threshold of its 
home, possibly one of the very pair yesterday 
seen courting on the meadow, lay dead and 
bleeding before them. This, then, had been 
the object at which the shots had been fired, 
and not the parrakeet. 

For a few seconds the hunters gazed, 
speechless, at the body. It told its own story. 
Plume-hunters were at work. Anger filled 
their souls. They almost wished that it had 
been a pafrakeet rather than this beautiful 
creature. The utter contemptibleness of it! 

“The vandals!” exploded Fat, stooping to 
pick up the poor remains. “Look here, Fred, 
the skin on the whole back has been torn off! 
Probably this poor chap has a nest out there 
with a pair of starving, half-grown young 
ones.” 

“As Jeff has already told us once or twice, 
there are plenty of skunks left in the world,” 
quietly declared Fred, but the dangerous 


124 THE last parrakeet 

sparkle in his eyes belied the mildness of his 
tone. 

“And as I said back there in New York,” 
vindictively added the other, “hanging’s too 
good for them. Heavens, did you ever see 
so many egrets?” 

Fred silently shook his head, and, taking 
his chum by the arm, led him back to dry 
land. “Now, Fat, it’s up to us,” he soberly 
stated. “That plume-hunter must still be 
around. The shots were n’t fired very long 
ago, and it’s our business to see that he does n’t 
fire any more.” 

“I guess you ’re right, Skinny,” Paul agreed. 
“We ’ll let the parrakeets go hang for a while 
until we’ve cleared this matter up.” 


CHAPTER XI 


AN UNREQUITED SEARCH 

B UT the plume-hunter, alarmed by the 
approach of the boys, or perhaps sa¬ 
tiated with killing—the mutilated 
corpses of ten other egrets floated on the sur¬ 
face of the lagoon—had fled the vicinity. A 
thorough search of the jungle that surrounded 
the lagoon failed to produce any trace of the 
man save a few exploded cartridges and the 
remains of the birds already mentioned. Sat¬ 
isfied that the culprit had escaped them, at 
the end of an hour of diligent search the boys 
gave it up. 

“I reckon he’s got through for the day and 
left,” Paul finally concluded aloud. 

“I guess you ’re right,” his chum agreed. 
“Now, as long as he’s gone, let’s get down to 
the business that brought us here. The first 
thing, I vote, is to hide the camera and plates 

125 


126 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


somewhere where we can find them. They ’re 
heavy, and I’m tired of lugging them 
around.” 

The camera, plates, and light tripod were 
deposited beneath a low, smooth-leafed holly 
that grew near the margin of the lagoon, and, 
thus lightened of their loads, which hitherto 
in the excitement of the chase had been for¬ 
gotten, they started in earnest to seek for the 
parrakeets. 

“Remember, no shooting, Fat,” Fred cau¬ 
tioned his companion when they were about 
to separate for the hunt, this being the best 
manner in which to cover the forest. “We 
know for certain that the birds are here, and 
the main thing is to get a photograph of one, 
which will act as absolute evidence of their 
presence. The museum would rather have 
that than a skin, for the birds are almost ex¬ 
tinct, and by killing one we might break up 
the last existing p'air.” 

“All right, old Skinny Shanks,” the other 
retorted, with an affectionate grin, “I won’t 
shoot any to-day, at any rate. To-morrow 
will be time enough for that. If we can locate 


AN UNREQUITED SEARCH 127 

the berry-tree on which they feed, that is all 
we want. The whole proposition rests on 
finding the tree, eh?” 

“And with the telescopic lens, snapping a 
picture,” completed his chum. “How do you 
propose to hunt?” 

“With my eyes and ears, you old shovel- 
handle,” was the endearing retort; then se¬ 
riously, “Suppose I take the forest on the west 
side of the lagoon and you the eastern part?” 

“All right, I ’ll have a look for the boun¬ 
dary-fence at the same time,” and with these 
words they separated. 

Fred did not forget the plume-hunters, and 
during his search for the parrakeets he deter¬ 
mined to remain within a short distance of 
the rookery. Having come to the east end of 
the lagoon, he plunged into the dense tropical 
growth that surrounded it, and, pausing every 
few moments to listen-, forced his way through 
the forest. 

The air was heavy and hot and moist, re¬ 
minding him of a hothouse atmosphere. His 
progress was slow. The going underfoot 
was not bad, but every few yards he halted to 


128 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

strain his ears for sound of the birds he sought. 
His eyes traveled from tree-top to tree-top, 
taking in every mysterious bunch of leaves, 
every sudden movement of twigs, and every 
bird that flitted to and fro in the sunlight. He 
noted objects on the ground, a startled marsh- 
hare, a large turtle with a rounded shell 
eighteen inches long and locally known as a 
gopher, and a raccoon, more yellowish than 
the northern variety with which he was famil¬ 
iar, which rushed up a tree at his approach 
and quickly was hidden by the screening 
leaves. Of cattle there was an abundance, 
but they seemed gentle, seldom lifting their 
heads from their eternal browsing as he 
approached. 

Passing a tall cabbage-palmetto which 
stood alone in a sea of green-leaved, dicotyle¬ 
donous trees, his attention was caught by a 
weak rustle near its base. For several mo¬ 
ments he saw nothing, but presently the slight 
movement of a dead leaf directed his eyes to¬ 
ward a small heap at its base, and he discov¬ 
ered a tiny forest-rat nibbling away for all it 
was worth at a palm-nut. From its size he 


AN UNREQUITED SEARCH 129 

knew that he was looking at the cotton-rat 
which inhabits South Florida. 

Scarcely had his eyes fallen on the tiny ro¬ 
dent than he became aware that some other 
animal used the same pile of leaves for cpn- 
cealment. His ears detected a louder rustle 
than before, and the little rat ceased its noisy 
munching. It crouched motionless, save for 
a faint tremor, apparently held spellbound by 
invisible cords wrought of terror. A long 
black form slid from the hiding-place among 
the leaves. 

In that second the rat leaped, but too late. 
There followed a flurry of leaves, artd a pair 
of wide gaping jaws closed upon the little 
form. The rodent gave forth a tiny squeak 
and suddenly was silent, a crushed lifeless 
form in the jaws of a large black snake. With 
a disgusted shudder, Fred moved on, but even 
before he progressed ten feet from the spot 
the unfortunate victim had almost entirely 
disappeared into that capacious maw. 

That was the way of the jungle, the boy 
thought philosophically, and the incident was 
soon forgotten. But ere he had traversed half 


THE LAST PARRAKEET 


130 

a mile it was brought back to his mind in a 
startling manner. 

Again he had paused beside a cabbage- 
palm, but this time there were several of the 
trees occupying a small glade in the forest. 
They were scattered about this open area, and 
the coarse grass that grew beneath them had 
been grazed short by cattle until it resembled 
the surface of a well cut lawn. And squarely 
in view, lying quietly in the sun, sprawled 
two more black snakes. 

Fred’s first inclination was to open an at¬ 
tack with a stick, but on second thought he 
changed his mind. After all, these Florida 
gopher-snakes, though plentiful, were harm¬ 
less creatures to mankind. If they lived on 
the flesh of other animals, so, for that matter, 
did mankind. It was only the memory of the 
cotton-rat that had aroused his first instinct to 
kill. 

A moment later he was glad that he had 
held his hand. The two snakes, lying dor¬ 
mant within three feet of each other, suddenly 
seemed to come to life. The reptile nearest 
the boy raised its head several inches from the 


AN UNREQUITED SEARCH 131 

ground and began moving it back and forth. 
The other followed its lead. Back and forth 
swung the heads; and then the bodies began 
to move. The first snake moved forward a 
few inches, and, pausing, moved back. The 
second did likewise. Again was the perform¬ 
ance repeated, and again. The two ap¬ 
proached until they almost touched, and then 
politely backed away. 

The boy watched, fascinated. He was 
viewing for the first time an occurrence that 
he had heard of but had never seen. The two 
black gopher-snakes were courting. 

And then, even as he watched, a third party 
broke in upon the scene. Fred was suddenly 
startled by a swish in the air overhead, and, 
without further warning, a large bird plunged 
down through an opening in the palms 
squarely upon the snake nearest him. The 
spectator stepped back and, thunderstruck, 
watched the ensuing struggle. 

It was a battle! 

The red-shouldered hawk seized its prey 
in both talons, one clawed foot grasping at 
the base of the neck and the other farther 


132 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

down along the neck. The sharp talons pene¬ 
trated through the black, shiny scales, and met 
in the flesh beneath. The victim, a medium¬ 
sized reptile about five feet long, struggled in¬ 
effectively to escape this ever-tightening grip 
of death. The long prehensile tail flashed up 
and coiled about the body of the hawk. The 
bird beat frantically with its wings, and with 
its cruel beak tore at its quarry’s exposed help¬ 
less head. Snake Number Two, at the first 
appearance of this swift flying death, *had 
fled. 

Over and over rolled the pair, the black coil 
ever tightening over the feathery body, the 
wicked bill ever pounding and tearing. And 
the bill won. The watcher saw the coil 
slowly loosen its tight hold and drop away 
from the hawk. The tail alone quivered 
slightly; the rest of the body lay slack, spine¬ 
less as a piece of rotten rope. The hawk, tri¬ 
umphant, twice fluttered its wings, and then 
flew off, bearing with it its hard-earned meal. 

Fred turned southward in his search for 
the wire fence. He was greatly impressed by 
the scene just witnessed. It had only needed 


AN UNREQUITED SEARCH 133 

a shot from his gun to complete the chain of 
death, or life. Which was it? he wondered. 
The palm-tree, the fruit, the cotton-rat, the 
gopher-snake, the hawk, and himself; all but 
the last depended upon the one before it for 
a living. He had stumbled on nature’s mode 
of life. 

Two hundred yards to the south of the 
glade the boy found the boundary-fence. It 
consisted merely of five strands of barbed wire 
nailed to trees. As these did not grow in 
straight lines, the fence of necessity was an ir¬ 
regular affair, zigzagging back and forth to 
meet the trunks, but running in a general di¬ 
rection east and west. 

Turning, Fred followed the line westward. 
Thus far he had caught neither glimpse nor 
sound of parrakeets. Despite the calls the 
boys had heard earlier in the morning and the 
night before, the jungle seemed as barren of 
the birds, as an oak-grove in Connecticut. 
Aside from the overpowering heat, the tropi¬ 
cal character of the jungle, and the streamers 
of hanging Spanish moss, the hunter might 
have been tramping a wood on Long Island. 


i 3 4 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

Somewhat downcast by lack of results, the 
boy pressed doggedly on. Having progressed 
three quarters of a mile, he figured that he 
must be opposite the lagoon, and turned north¬ 
ward. According to his calculations he could 
not be more t;han three hundred yards from the 
edge of the rookery. Paul would be return¬ 
ing shortly, and he was eager to learn the re¬ 
sult of his explorations. 

Ten minutes later Fred caught, still far on 
ahead, the gleam of light that denoted a break 
in the trees, and hastened his steps. The 
rookery was almost in sight. Not a hostile 
sound had come from there during his absence, 
and he felt that, despite his failure—and prob¬ 
ably that of his chum—to locate the parra- 
keets, they had as a slight recompense, by their 
presence, served to drive away the plume- 
hunter. 

But, even as these thoughts crowded 
through his brain, he was brought to a halt 
by a sharp report not fifty yards distant, and 
the crash of hurriedly trampled underbrush. 
Turning without an instant’s hesitation, he 
sprang in the direction of the noise. 


CHAPTER XII 


BATTLE OF THE SAURIANS 

H AVING left his companion at the 
lagoon, Paul traveled eastward. 
He moved slowly and cautiously 
like a soldier on scout duty in enemy territory, 
with senses keenly alert and eyes sharpened to 
catch the first suspicious movement in the 
foliage overhead. The section traversed was 
spotted with dense swampy hummocks filled 
with palms of all sizes, from low-growing 
dwarfs to tall cabbage-palmettos. Aside 
from these the hummocks contained dense 
thickets of leafy trees whose crowns overshad¬ 
owed the tallest palms; and underfoot were 
heavy masses of tangled undergrowth which 
made them difficult to penetrate. 

It was in these swampy areas that berry- 
trees flourished, and it was feeding on the fruit 

of these that Paul hoped to discover the elu- 

135 


136 the last parrakeet 

sive parrakeets. The way was heavy with ob¬ 
stacles. The undergrowth was hard to pierce, 
so laced and interlaced was it with running 
plants and lianas, which not only retarded 
progress but inflicted pain by their sharp 
thorns. 

The boy persevered. Selecting as an ob¬ 
jective a group of gumbo-limbo trees set deep 
in the center of a tangled hummock, he 
crawled toward them through the brush as 
best he could, and, for all his great propor¬ 
tions, with surprisingly little noise. When 
satisfied that no parrakeets were feeding on 
their fruit there he torturously withdrew and 
sought another clump. Thicket after thicket 
was covered in this manner; hummock after 
hummock. All were alive with birds, but 
not the ones he was after. 

Not once but several times he startled small 
Florida deer that had been browsing on the 
leaves of lesser shrubs. And arriving at 
length before an open glade about fifty yards 
across and filled with dense briers, he in turn 
was startled by the crash of a large body as 
it made off through the brush. Taking it to 



BATTLE OF THE SAURIANS 137 

be merely a frightened deer, he paid the 
creature slight attention until it crossed the 
open space, ripping and tearing through the 
brier-patch; and then he discovered that he 
had scared a small Florida black bear. He 
paused, with a murmur of delight, to watch 
its retreat. 

“Jove, this patch of forest is as good as be¬ 
ing in a zoo! So far I’ve glimpsed more ani¬ 
mals in an hour than a person would see in a 
whole day in the South American jungle! I 
wonder what it will be next? Parrakeets, I 
hope.” 

But in this he was destined to disappoint¬ 
ment. His search proved as barren of result 
as did Fred’s. At the end of two hours he 
found himself at the brink of the jungle, fac¬ 
ing the meadow crossed earlier in the morn¬ 
ing. The herons were there as they always 
had been, but fed half a mile off to the right, 
and Paul realized that he had reached the 
marsh some distance west of the crossing. Di¬ 
rectly in front of him, extending into the open 
for a hundred yards, the grass, contrary to the 
rest of the meadow, was short and green. In- 


138 the last parrakeet 

stead of being firm underfoot, it was soft and 
boggy, marked with small pools of water. 
Black patches of mud also marred its green 
surface which was crisscrossed with narrow 
trails. 

Curious to learn what had formed these 
paths, Paul moved cautiously to the edge of 
the greensward. The thin sod had been torn 
by the strong claws of some great beast that 
had crawled across the quaking surface. And 
fifty yards out beyond he saw one of the beas*ts. 

The alligator was a large one, measuring 
full twelve feet in length, with a back ridged 
by black leathern scales that glistened dully 
in the full light of the sun. It lay sprawled 
out, flattened, half covered with mire, and 
asleep, basking in the warm rays. Near it 
stood a dozen tussocks of coarse, silvery reeds, 
forming an island in the little expanse of short 
grass. 

The boy, much impressed by the size of the 
reptile, chose a seat on a fallen log that lay at 
the edge of the forest, with the idea of watch¬ 
ing the monster while he rested from his walk. 
The alligator vouchsafed him no attention. 


BATTLE OF THE SAURIANS 139 

It remained there, outstretched, with eyes 
closed, drawing slow and deep breaths. 

Suddenly the watcher became aware of a 
movement among the reed tussocks and, to 
his surprise, saw a second alligator as large as 
the first emerge from the shelter of the little 
island. Half interested, the boy watched the 
new-comer advance toward its basking com¬ 
panion. Its movements seemed stiff and 
painful and sluggish. It slowly advanced to 
the side of the sleeper. Then, to Paul’s un¬ 
bounded astonishment, instead of settling 
down in the mud, it suddenly reared up on all 
fours with its belly clear of the ground. 

The enormous jaws gaped wide open, and, 
with a species of muffled bellow that caused a 
shiver to run down the boy’s spine, the new 
arrival rushed upon the unsuspecting pros¬ 
trate one. Before the latter was aware of its 
presence, those cruel jaws, armed with rows 
of savage, wicked teeth, glanced from the 
tough scales on its back with a snap. And 
then, as if their touch had created an electric 
contact, the great flat tail of the basker swung 
in a sudden arc and caught the attacker a tre- 


i 4 o THE LAST PARRAKEET 

mendous blow on the flank, which sent it top¬ 
pling over on its side. 

Immediately the mud began to fly. Up 
rose both reptiles, jaw locked in jaw, wicked 
claws tearing and scratching, heads twisting 
from side to side, both panting and grunting. 
Higher they rose, tails thrashing, bellies off 
the ground, and claws working. The battling 
alligators stood nearly upright, balanced by 
hind legs and tails, grunting, wrenching, and 
tearing. Then, unbalanced in their desper¬ 
ate struggles, they slipped and again went 
down in the mud. Over and over they rolled, 
jaws still tightly locked, and then on their 
feet, up into a V, and down again. 

The boy rose from his log, and, fascinated, 
stood watching the gruesome battle, aghast at 
its horror. Never before had he witnessed a 
sight that so filled his entire being with loath¬ 
ing. It nauseated him to watch—those glis¬ 
tening teeth, the snap of jaws, the throaty 
rumbles, the sighs! 

Sick and dizzy, he tore his eyes from the 
haunting spectacle and reentered the forest. 
The infuriated saurians were left to settle their 



BATTLE OF THE SAURIANS 141 

differences by themselves without a human 
witness. 

As the underbrush closed about him, Paul 
heaved a deep sigh of relief. Such scenes be¬ 
longed to prehistoric ages, he thought, not to 
the present. He had been taught that alli¬ 
gators were cowardly beasts, afraid of large 
animals and especially humans. Was that 
true? he wondered. A single blow of those 
swift-flung tails would brush a man aside as 
easily as if he were a fly. No wonder profes¬ 
sional alligator-catchers must be alert and on 
the job! Ugh! That was one profession he 
would not take up. 

The crash of a startled deer brought him 
back to a realization of where he was, and 
automatically his eyes sought the tree-tops. 
His hurried steps slowed, and once more he 
became the hunter. 

The remainder of the trip back to the egret 
rookery proved uneventful. Like his chum, 
he was treated to no further indication of the 
presence of parrakeets. 

Arriving at the lagoon, Paul found that his 
friend had not yet returned. The egrets ap- 


i 4 2 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

parently had not been disturbed, and the rook¬ 
ery presented a quiet, peaceful appearance. 
A dozen of the snowy birds soared and flapped 
unconcernedly over the trees, flying to and 
from the meadow. Many cattle were scat¬ 
tered along the margin grazing peacefully on 
the coarse grass that grew there, and a few 
stood knee-deep in the water munching at the 
sun-browned reeds. Among these was a calf 
which, following close to its mother’s side, 
was having a hard time to maintain a footing, 
so deep was the water for its shorter legs. 

Paul, by nature soft-hearted, gazed doubt¬ 
fully at the calf and scratched his head. 
“That fool cow!” he muttered; “she’ll be 
drownin’ her young one in a minute if she 
does n’t look out. There, what did, I tell 
you?” 

The animal in question, enticed by a greener 
patch of reeds farther out in the lagoon*, with 
true bovine stupidity had hurried toward it 
and now stood up to her shoulders in water. 
Her offspring, a small month-old calf, brown- 
splashed and spotted with white, attempted 
to follow and almost immediately was en- 


BATTLE OF THE SAURIANS 143 

gulfed by the deepening water. Emitting a 
feeble bellow, it struck out frantically, its 
little hoofs beating the water into a foam and 
its body making small progress ahead. The 
hungry mother paid no attention to its strug¬ 
gles and continued to munch the green leaves 
without a backward glance. 

Such callousness was too much for the in¬ 
dignant boy. With a whoop, dropping his 
gun, he dashed through the surrounding belt 
of trees into the lagoon straight for the cow. 
At the noise of his cries and the splash of his 
hurried approach, she lifted her head, and, 
tossing her long horns, turned and fled shore¬ 
ward. The calf followed more slowly, but 
when its feet touched bottom it accelerated its 
gait and soon caught up. The pair, mother 
and son, with bobbing hind quarters and flirt¬ 
ing tails, disappeared among the trees. 

Highly pleased with himself, Paul returned 
to the shore. He felt that through his efforts 
the life of the calf had been saved. 

The cattle along the margin had ceased 
their browsing and stared at him with fierce 
startled eyes. If the boy had noticed care- 


144 


THE LAST PARRAKEET 


fully he would have seen that they were not 
all cows, that, aside from several steers, there 
were one or two bulls. But he paid no at¬ 
tention to that fact and made straight toward 
them with the idea of driving them all away 
from the lagoon, so that there might be no 
more near-tragedies while he was around. 

Instead of retreating as he advanced, the 
cattle gathered into a compact group and held 
their positions, tossing their heads and stamp¬ 
ing the ground. Undaunted and unsuspect¬ 
ing, the boy hastened toward them, waving 
his arms, and in a loud voice ordered them to 
“Git out of there.” He reached dry land, 
picked up his gun, and flung a dead branch 
at them. 

This last defiance proved too much for the 
uneven temper of the bulls. Instead of run¬ 
ning away, two advanced slowly toward him 
with threatening bellows and shaking heads. 
Then for the first time did a feeling that the 
affair was not working out properly enter the 
boy’s head. The bulls advanced, not rapidly, 
but in a manner decidedly businesslike and 
convincing. Paul halted his own advance. 


BATTLE OF THE SAURIANS 145 

He stared uncertainly at the angry bulls. 
They broke into a slow trot. There could 
be no doubt of their intentions. Now, despite 
his great fleshiness, Paul was, upon occasion, 
a good runner. This was one of the occasions. 
Casting a frightened look at the two beasts he 
dashed off through the woods. 

Because of the thickness of the trees, he was 
enabled to keep ahead of his pursuers for 
nearly a hundred yards. They blundered 
through the underbrush after him, their trot 
broken into a clumsy gallop, and their rage 
apparently increased at this inglorious retreat 
of the disturber of their peace. In and out 
they dodged among the close-growing trunks, 
gradually gaining, but still behind the human 
being who had dared threaten them and their 
herd. 

When a hundred yards had been covered 
they had drawn close to Paul. With a glance 
behind, he put on an extra burst of speed and 
again forged ahead. The bulls blundered 
after him. 

The chase could not go on for ever, and Fat 
knew it. The beasts were certain to overtake 


146 the last parrakeet 

him within the next few minutes. Driven to 
desperation, he circled a thick clump of un¬ 
derbrush and plunged toward a large cabbage- 
palm around whose trunk was wrapped a 
meshwork of roots from a gigantic strangling 
fig. While he was yet ten feet from its base, 
his toe caught in a running vine and he 
crashed to the ground. Scrambling up, he 
took a step forward and again went down. 
This time his finger caught on the trigger of 
his gun, and the weapon was discharged as he 
fell. 


CHAPTER XIII 


AN UNWELCOME INTRUDER 

F RED heard the report of a gun and the 
plunge of a heavy body through the 
brush. Throwing his own weapon 
into a position of readiness, he hastened to¬ 
ward the commotion that was taking place 
not more than a hundred feet away. The cry 
of alarm in a voice he knew well caused him 
to redouble his speed, and he fairly flew 
through the forest. 

Thus it was that scarcely five seconds had 
elapsed since the noise of the explosion when 
he burst through the bushes and arrived upon 
the scene of trouble. To his profound joy he 
beheld Fat, alone and unhurt, scrambling, 
with amazing speed and agility for one so 
hugely built, up into the roots of an enormous, 
strangling fig. Paul saw him at the same in¬ 
stant, and in a terrified voice bade him hide. 

147 


148 the last parrakeet 

“Shin up a tree, Skinny! shin up a tree!” he 
warned in evident alarm for the safety of the 
other. 

Instinctively obeying, Fred sprang toward 
a large gnarled trunk which rose in a sharp 
curve from the ground and, dividing ten feet 
up, ran as several distinct lianas into the tree- 
tops above. He was just in time. Even as 
he drew himself to safety the bushes parted 
and two large bulls, bellowing with rage, 
crashed into view, making straight for him. 
The sight was sufficient to urge him to greater 
efforts, and a second later he was ensconced in 
the triple fork of the great liana. 

The infuriated beasts rushed at the liana, 
the leader fetching up with a crash against its 
thick trunk. The weight of the blow caused 
Fred to cling for dear life to his hold. The 
second bull charged at the base of the stran¬ 
gling fig and gored it. 

But the boys were safe out of reach of those 
sharp-pointed horns. Around and around 
trampled the angry bulls, snorting and bel¬ 
lowing and shaking their ugly heads, their lit¬ 
tle, wicked bloodshot eyes glaring unavaii* 


UNWELCOME INTRUDER 149 

ingly at their escaped victims. And then the 
boys, recovering from their alarm and safe 
seated on their perches, began to laugh! 

“What have you been doing to them, Fat?” 
chuckled Fred, looking across at his chum. 
“They seem to be angry enough to eat you.” 

“I reckon they would,” drawled the other, 
who was fast regaining his breath, and with 
it his good spirits. “I just tried to drive ’em 
from the lagoon,” he continued ruefully, “and 
instead of that they undertook to drive me— 
and succeeded. What are we goin’ to do 
with ’em?” 

“I don’t know,” Fred laughed. “We’re 
in a nice pickle, treed by two tame cultivated 
bulls!” Suddenly the speaker changed his 
tone to one of pain. “Ouch, Fat, this liana 
is all covered with thorns! I came up so fast 
that I did n’t realize it at first, but now they ’re 
sticking into me from ten different directions. 
Something’s got to be done right away or I ’ll 
be like a fish caught on that green spinner of 
yours.” 

“That’s too bad, Skinny. They ’ll get tired 
of buttin’ trees in a little while and leave us.” 


150 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“Well, I wish they’d hurry!” was the 
pained response. “If they don’t get out in¬ 
side of two minutes I’m goin’ to shoot. It’s 
better to kill one than to die up here by inches. 
I can feel the thorns eatin’ right into my 
vitals.” 

“Aw, they ’re a long way from your vitals 
yet,” retorted the unfeeling Paul. “Don’t 
shoot the bulls, Skinny; they belong to Mr. 
Whitehouse.” 

“What do I care? He’d rather I killed 
them than see me strung up here like a spar¬ 
row hung on a thorn by a butcher-bird. Come 
on, bulls, get out of there!” 

The fury of the beasts seemed to have 
abated. After futilely goring at the gigantic 
vines that held the boys, and having uprooted 
a few bushes with their long pointed horns 
just to show what they could have done if 
they had had a human being at their mercy, 
they desisted and stared more calmly at the 
refugees. Then, at sound of Fred’s painful, 
unmusical howls and blood-curdling yells, 
they turned tail and fled through the forest. 
The short siege was over. 


UNWELCOME INTRUDER 151 

The perch unfortunately chosen by Fred 
was an overgrown cockspur which, usually a 
scrambling shrub, here was a giant liana of 
the forest. The trunk was virtually bare of 
the long recurved spines, but the boy by evil 
chance had come into contact with some of the 
thorny running tendrils, which enveloped his 
body and clung to his garments as if held 
there by a hundred safety-pins. His descent 
was decidedly slow and painful. 

“Whew!” he grunted, when at last upon the 
ground; “the next time I ’ll take my chances 
down here!” 

After a council of war, the boys decided to 
give the lagoon a wide berth for the re¬ 
mainder of the day; and they started back for 
the camp across the meadow. It was long 
after noon, and they strongly felt the need of 
refreshment after the long hike and exciting 
experiences of the morning. 

“We ’ll get something to eat first,” advised 
Paul, “and then try in another direction. Al¬ 
though we both heard the parrakeets in this 
piece of jungle early this morning, they seem 
to have left. Perhaps they ’re feeding on one 


152 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

of the islands out on the meadow. At any 
rate, we ’ll give the rookery a wide berth until 
we ’re sure those cattle are thoroughly calmed 
down.” 

Having safely circumnavigated the lagoon, 
they set out for the meadow. Half an hour 
later they stood at its edge at the spot crossed 
earlier in the day. They had not paused to 
hunt during the journey, and the pace had 
been fast. Arriving there, both paused as if 
by common consent and stared at one another. 
The identical thought had struck them at the 
same moment. 

“Gemini!” both exclaimed; “we’ve left the 
camera behind!” 

They stared foolishly at each other and then 
broke into roars of mirth. It was funny! 
The encounter with the bulls had driven the 

i 

memory of their cache entirely out of mind. 

“You go ahead, Fat, back to camp,” sug¬ 
gested his chum, when their merriment had 
subsided. “I ’ll return to the lagoon and re¬ 
trieve it. You get the grub cooked while I’m 
away. It won’t take long.” 

Paul demurred at this, thinking of the 


UNWELCOME INTRUDER 153 

cattle, but Fred prevailed. Both, in their in¬ 
nermost hearts, knew that the cattle would not 
bother them again, but, boy-like, each liked 
to make believe that great danger lay in that 
direction. Presently, however, after much 
discussion Paul departed across the meadow 
and Fred returned to the woods. 

An hour and a half later he joined Paul at 
the edge of the slough where lay the canoe, 
and soon was busy before the camp-fire dis¬ 
posing of canned beans washed down with 
steaming coffee brewed by his waiting chum. 
Having finished all the beans, together with 
several large biscuits coated with strawberry 
jam, he sat back with a sigh of satisfaction. 

“There, that goes to the right spot,” he 
grunted, and then demanded, with a queer 
sort of smile on his lips, “Who do you think I 
saw near the lagoon?” 

“What do you mean?” was the surprised an¬ 
swer. “Did you see someone?” 

Fred silently nodded. 

“Who?” demanded Fat. “The plume- 
hunter?” 

The other slowly shook his head. “I’m not 


154 TH E LAST PARRAKEET 

sure-, Fat,” he said. “This is what happened: 
I ’d just gotten back to the rookery and se¬ 
cured the camera when I heard a noise in the 
bushes. Thinking it was the cattle—they’d 
disappeared before I got there—I ducked be¬ 
hind a patch of grape-vines and sneaked off. 
Nothing more was heard for nearly a hundred 
yards, and I ’d decided that everything was 
O. K. when I heard a crash behind me and 
turned around just in time to see a man plunge 
into a thicket of briers. He had tripped over 
a running vine, I suppose, for I ’m sure he 
did n’t mean to tumble into those brambles, 
not from the way he declaimed about things 
in general and that bush in particular when 
he stood up.” 

Instead of following his first inclination 
of going to the aid of the unfortunate man, 
Fred had slipped behind a clump of tall ferns, 
and from this place of concealment had 
watched him regain his feet. The man had 
done so with a volley of muttered exclama¬ 
tions and a blasphemous rubbing of bruised 
shins. He was a man of medium height, 
round-shouldered and stooping, whose ill- 



UNWELCOME INTRUDER 155 

fitting clothes sagged ungracefully from his 
thick, flabby body. His hair, peeping from 
beneath the brim of a wide-rimmed hat, was 
deep carrot in shade, and his ruddy face was 
adorned with whiskers and a goatee of the 
same hue. Although he did not present an 
attractive appearance, he did not have the air 
of an out-and-out ruffian. 

Stooping to pick up the gun that had slipped 
from his hand, the man had walked with cau¬ 
tious tread in the direction of the hidden boy. 
His sharp little gray eyes had taken in each 
bush, each tree-trunk, and every opening in 
the jungle, as he advanced. Without a doubt 
he was looking for the lad, and Fred, unwill¬ 
ing to disappoint him, had coolly stepped into 
view. 

“Good afternoon,” he had said briefly. 

“At that,” Fred continued, speaking to his 
chum by the camp-fire, “the man drew back 
with a start of surprise, and, though he quickly 
recovered himself, he could n’t prevent a 
guilty look from coming into his face. My 
appearance was sudden, you can bet, and 
wholly unexpected. 


156 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“But, as I said, he soon recovered from his 
astonishment, and, nodding, held out his hand. 
I grabbed it and shook it, but, Gemini, Fat, 
I might just as well have been shaking a lump 
of putty as that hand. He had n’t as much 
strength in his grip as a soft-shelled crab. It 
sort of gave me the creeps, and for some rea¬ 
son I could n’t help disliking him. 

“ ‘How do you do?’ I said again. ‘This is 
a queer place to find another person.’ 

“At that he sort of drew back and looked at 
me queerly. Then, seeing that I had n’t 
meant anything in particular, he replied: ‘It 
is, indeed! May I inquire what you are do¬ 
ing here?’ 

“As if that was any business of his! But I 
just said: ‘I’m collecting, sir. One of the 
museums in New York has sent us down to do 
a little work for them in the field.’ 

“ ‘Us?’ inquired the man in a surprised 
voice, though I have a feeling that he was n’t 
surprised at all. ‘Is there a large party of 
you?’ 

“I began to feel that he was trying to pump 
me. ‘Just two of us,’ I answered. 


UNWELCOME INTRUDER 157 

“ What especially are you down for?’ 

“ ‘Oh, anything we happen to find’; he 
was n’t going to find out any more from me 
until I knew more of him. ‘What are you 
doing here? Are you one of Mr. White- 
house’s men?’ You see, Fat, I thought he 
might be one of the boundary men. 

“ ‘Um-m,’ he sort of grunted, and I could 
see that he was n’t what I thought. ‘No, not 
exactly. In fact I have n’t the pleasure of 
knowing the gentleman you mention. I’m 
here doing work somewhat similar to yours. 
I’m collecting—for the Union Museum.’ 

“You can just bet the scales fell from my 
eyes then, Fat, and I stuck out my hand and 
said: ‘Why, I’m glad to know you, Mr.— 
Mr.—’ 

“ ‘Parker—Frank C. Parker, at your serv¬ 
ice, and your name is—’ 

“ ‘Milton—Frederick A. Milton,’ I replied, 
just as formal as he. ‘We ’re two birds of a 
feather, it seems.’ Then, just to kid him along 
a bit, ‘Have you seen any parrakeets?’ 

“Whoopee, Fat! Parker started back at 
that question just as if I’d asked him for a 



158 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

million dollars, and his face assumed a blank 
expression funny to see. ‘Why, no!’ he ex¬ 
claimed, though it was easy to detect the false¬ 
ness in his amazement. ‘What could have 
put that idea into your head? Carolina parra- 
keets are extinct.’ Then, with pretended in¬ 
nocence, ‘Have you seen any?’ 

“So comical was the look he gave me that 
I could n’t help bursting out laughing. Dr. 
Keene told us before leaving New York that 
the Union Museum was sending a man to look 
for the birds in question, and beyond a doubt 
Mr. Parker was the man. His make-believe 
innocence did n’t deceive me for one second. 
Beyond a doubt he knew all about us before¬ 
hand just as we did him. 

“ ‘Why don’t you admit it?’ I laughed. 
‘You ’re down here after the parrakeets just 
the same as we are. There ought to be no 
secrets between brother scientists. We ’re 
going to beat you to those birds if we can, and 
you ’re going to do the same to us if you are 
lucky enough to find them first.’ 

“Parker allowed a feeble smile to play 
across his ugly bearded face. He nodded 


UNWELCOME INTRUDER 159 

and chuckled weakly. ‘You ’re right, Mil- 
ton,’ he admitted. ‘It’s a race to see who gets 
there first.’ 

“ ‘Now let me ask a question,’ I said. ‘Have 
you seen them?’ 

“A look of cunning crept into his eyes, and 
he answered with a shake of his head. ‘But 
I believe I know where they are to be found,’ 
he declared; and even then I could tell that 
he was lying.” 

Paul interrupted his chum at this juncture 
with a laugh. He had been listening to the 
tale with deep interest, but now his round face 
was wreathed in smiles. 

“The man evidently did n’t make a good 
impression on you, Skinny, did he?” 

Fred decisively shook his head. “He sure 
did not!” he retorted. “For one thing, he 
had followed me all the way from the lagoon 
without trying to catch up, and, for the rest— 
well, you wait until I’m finished, and you ’ll 
agree with me.” 



CHAPTER XIV 


EXPLORING THE FOREST 



HEN he said that he knew where 
the parrakeets were to be found,” 
Fred continued his story, “I knew 


he was not telling the truth. But I made be¬ 
lieve that I believed him and looked kind of 
crestfallen. 

“ ‘Yes, sir,’ Parker repeated, T know where 
they can be found.’ 

“ ‘Where?’ I ventured in an eager voice. 

“ ‘It’s likely I’d tell you!’ 

“ ‘Please, Mr. Parker,’ I replied. 

“He seemed to think a moment as if turn¬ 
ing some scheme over in his mind and then 
said: ‘All right, I ’ll tell you where. I like 
to play the game square. Ten miles south of 
here is another strip of jungle very similar to 
this, and that is the home of the last living 
parrakeets. I have that fact on good author¬ 
ity and am on my way there now—just stopped 


160 


EXPLORING THE FOREST 161 


to explore this bit of forest on the way. I 
think it only fair that you should know about 
them; but believe me, boy, you ’ll have to 
hurry to get there ahead of me! I have a mule 
and wagon over on the high land a couple of 
miles to the south of this place and am bound 
toward it now.’ 

“ ‘Gemini, that’s tough luck for us!’ I 
groaned. ‘We ’re on foot; but, thanks ever so 
much, Mr. Parker, for letting us know. 
You’ve acted like a true sportsman, and it’s 
only proper that you should have first whack. 
We ’ll probably start first thing in the morn¬ 
ing, and if you have n’t gotten them all by the 
time we reach there, we ’ll give you a race 
yet.’ 

“He seemed pleased at that and gave me 
minute directions how to get there. I wrote 
them out in my note-book, and then, with a 
parting hand-shake, we took leave of each 
other. We both hurried of! into the woods 
as fast as our legs would carry us.” 

“Well, I must say that I don’t see anything 
wrong with him so far,” earnestly declared 
Paul when his chum had concluded. “He 


16a THE LAST PARRAKEET 


sounds to me like a pretty good kind of sport. 
He told you where the parrakeets are to be 
found and seemed quite decent about it.” 

Noting the serious look on Paul’s face, 
Fred lay back his head and broke into a 
hearty laugh. “Of course he did,” he agreed, 
grinning. “That’s just the point; he knows 
the parrakeets are here as well as we do and 
wants to get rid of us.” 

“I don’t believe it.” Fat shook his head. 

“Here,” continued Fred, with a chuckle; 
“I haven’t quite finished. You remember 
the shots we heard this morning and the dead 
egrets?” At a nod from the other, he con¬ 
tinued: “Well, listen to me. There was the 
tip end of an egret plume stickin’ out from the 
front of his shirt all the time he talked to me! 
It must have slipped down when he fell, and 
he didn’t notice it there; and, judging from 
the bulge in the shirt, there must have been a 
lot more!” 

Fat slammed the fist of his right hand into 
the palm of his left. “Gummy!” he exploded, 
“I guess you are right! That’s the limit! If 
he’s the chap who shot those birds he must 


EXPLORING THE FOREST 163 

be a pretty low kind of an individual. That’s 
not the study of natural science; it’s slaughter! 
Yes, you ’re right, Skinny!” 

“And that’s not all,” the other quietly con¬ 
tinued. “When I’d left him for about five 
minutes, I discovered that I’d dropped the 
tripod case. That caused me to retrace my 
steps exactly over the ground I’d just been. 
Parker was n’t in sight—I kept careful watch 
for him—and neither was the tripod. No, he 
had n’t stolen it. I found it close to the 
lagoon where it had dropped when I leaped 
behind the grape-vines the first time I heard 
him. But, besides that, I found something 
else. 

“As I passed the spot where he tripped up 
that time, I noticed a piece of yellow paper, 
all crumpled up into a ball, lying on the 
ground where he’d fallen. I picked it up. 
Here, read it.” 

He handed his companion a wrinkled slip 
of paper, and Paul carefully spread it on his 
knee. He saw that it was a telegraph form 
covered with type-written characters. Hav¬ 
ing hastily read its contents, he uttered an in- 


164 THE LAST PARRAKEET, 

dignant growl and faced his chum with a 
raging countenance. 

“So that’s what happened!” he snapped, 
so indignant that he could hardly speak. 
“The thief!” 

Fred nodded slowly. “You see now why I 
don't like him, Fat, don’t you?” 

“I sure do!” was the emphatic response. 
“Just let me catch him snoopin' around this 
camp, and I ’ll show him what's what!” 

It was getting late in the afternoon when 
the boys ended their discussion of Frank C. 
Parker. As it was too late to think of return¬ 
ing to the jungle, they determined to explore 
the region about the camp. Although fearful 
that their rival from the Union Museum 
might, during their absence, secure the parra- 
keets, there was nothing they could do to pre¬ 
vent him. If they crossed the meadow back 
to the forest, there would scarcely be an hour 
left of daylight in which to continue their 
hunt, and that was hardly worth while. 

“As for the egrets,” declared Paul, “I doubt 
very much if he ’ll bother them again while 
we ’re in the neighborhood. He knows very 


EXPLORING THE FOREST 165 

well that if we should find him at it, his name 
would be mud back in New York. I’ve a 
great mind to tell him that we know about his 
shooting them, next time I see him.” 

As it was only four o’clock, the boys de¬ 
cided to work back through the woods and 
open glades in the direction from which they 
had arrived in the car. The island where the 
camp stood was scarcely two hundred yards 
across, and soon, following the wheel-tracks, 
the boys emerged into the meadow which cut 
it off from the mainland. Contrary in charac¬ 
ter to the marsh where fed the herons, this one 
was covered with short grass which grew from 
firm sandy soil submerged about six inches be¬ 
neath the water. Consequently, the walking 
was good, and, still guided by the wheel- 
tracks, they hastened across the intervening 
half-mile which separated their island from 
what looked like a bit of mainland. The 
meadow was dotted with grazing cattle, but, 
despite previous experience, the boys paid 
these slight heed, and presently, without ad¬ 
venture, reached the farther shore. 

Here the character of the forest was differ- 


166 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


ent from that in which they had spent the 
major part of the day. Pines dominated, but 
were spread wide apart, with intervening 
patches of palmettos, which grew stunted 
from the barren white sand beneath. The 
ground, in places where the trees grew closer, 
was carpeted with pine-needles and scattered 
with cones. Here and there, mingled with 
the brown carpet and starving palmettos, were 
small clumps of coarse sedge-like grass on 
which browsed a scattering of thin cattle. It 
was not a fertile country, but a typical one, a 
portion of the great pine forest which covers 
a large part of the Florida peninsula. 

The young naturalists wandered through 
this region for half an hour, deeply interested 
in the few birds and animals they saw, but 
disappointed in the general outlook of the 
place. Small, mosshung cypress swamps 
there were in abundance, set like oases in 
the desert of pines, but even these were 
bare of feathered life save for a few isolated 
herons. Of parrakeets there was no sign. 

Presently the boys halted on the bank of a 


EXPLORING THE FOREST 167 

narrow creek, scarcely ten feet wide, where 
there was a semblance of tropical growth. 

“This looks better,” growled Fat, who had 
been showing signs of disappointment at the 
hitherto barren display. “Suppose we fol¬ 
low it southward a short distance, Skinny, just 
to see if it fetches up anywhere near our is¬ 
land camp. There’s no use keeping to this 
pine forest any longer.” 

The little stream grew no wider as they ad¬ 
vanced along its bank, but it did not narrow. 
The water, brown coffee-color, seemed to be 
of good depth, as Paul unfortunately discov¬ 
ered when he attempted to ford it. Stepping 
off the bank, he had walked boldly in, and, 
for his pains, disappeared entirely from sight, 
gun and all. In a moment he had risen, splut¬ 
tering and spitting, to the surface and was 
helped ashore by his grinning companion. 
Thereafter he took no further chances. 

The stream was lined with live-oak and 
cypress. Few pines found their way to the 
banks. Tall cabbage-palmettos leaned over 
the water, their fronded heads almost meet- 


168 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


ing, and the boys passed clump after clump 
of tall ferns. Numerous small bayous ran 
back from the banks, necessitating detours, 
but, as a whole, a few yards back from the 
stream the going was quite open. 

“This looks pretty good,” decided Paul, 
when they had covered a mile. “It’s like a 
belt of tropical foliage growing in the midst 
of a desert. If there ’s any way of getting the 
canoe here, I’m going to explore this stream 
to-morrow. There are gumbo-limbos here as 
well as in the regular jungle we visited this 
morning, and I bet there are parrakeets, too.” 

“There may be,” retorted his chum, “but I 
think I ’ll stick to the jungle. W*e know 
they ’re there.” 

Presently, to their surprise, the creek led 
them back to the open meadow that separated 
their island from the mainland. Its course 
across the open space was marked by a heavy 
growth of scrub palmettos, which they had 
noticed before but thought of no consequence. 
Following with their eyes the direction taken 
by these dwarf palms, they realized that the 
stream must flow close to the island and doubt- 


EXPLORING THE FOREST 169 

less was connected with the slough on the 
other side. This supposition later proved 
correct. The slough was merely a back¬ 
water lagoon from the main stream. 

It was dusk when they arrived back at camp 
and found there a wholly unexpected surprise 
awaiting them. A most unwelcome visitor 
was on hand to greet them. 


CHAPTER XV 


A TRIP BY CANOE 



PON approaching camp through the 
early twilight, the boys became aware 
of a figure standing motionless before 
the tent beneath the spreading live-oak. Who 
could it be? they wondered, surprised by the 
presence of this late visitor. 

“I bet it’s old Red Whiskers,” Paul whis¬ 
pered to his chum; that was the disrespectful 
name by which they had already dubbed Mr. 
Parker. “He’s just come snoopin’ around 
while we were away to see what he could find. 
Come on, Skinny, let’s tell him a few things 
about himself!” 

“Hold on, Fat,” the other cautioned, seiz¬ 
ing Paul by the arm. “That’s not Red; it 
does n’t look like the man at all to me.” 

They hastened forward, and, arriving at a 
point that afforded a clearer view of the in- 

170 


A TRIP BY CANOE 


171 


truder, stopped by common consent with gasps 
of amazement. Fat threw an alarmed glance 
at his companion, and, with a grunt, flung 
himself behind a thick bush. Fred followed 
an instant later. 

“It’s a bear!” was his startled comment, 
and he crouched, trembling with excitement, 
beside his chum. 

“It sure is!” agreed that stout individual. 
“But what I want to know is what’s he doin’ 
there, and what are we goin’ to do about it?” 

For several minutes they watched the un¬ 
welcome intruder. It was a small bear, meas¬ 
uring little more than three feet in length, and 
was almost black in color, but, still, it was a 
bear. It may be remembered that Paul had 
caught a fleeting glimpse of a similar animal 
earlier in the day, and this may have been the 
same beast. 

It was an inquisitive bear, at any rate. 
Moving away from the tent where they first 
discovered it, it approached the remains of 
the camp-fire, sniffing as it advanced and nos¬ 
ing the ground. It paused on the way to pick 
up a biscuit, which it swallowed in one satis- 


i 7 2 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

fied gulp. An empty bean-can afforded deep 
disappointment, vengeance for which was 
wreaked on half a rasher of bacon thought¬ 
lessly left near the fire. Mollified by this 
titbit, after a further though futile search, it 
ambled back toward the tent and lay down in 
front of the open flap. The even sound of 
breathing soon told that it slept. 

“Did you ever see anything to beat the nerve 
of that?” murmured Fat, in a lugubrious 
voice. “Listen to that chap snore, Skinny, 
will you? He’s worse than you.” 

“That’s all right,” Fred retorted, “but how 
are we goin’ to get rid of him? He acts as if 
he owns the place, and I, for one, am not sure 
that he does n’t.” 

Both thoughtfully studied the situation. It 
was growing darker every minute and soon 
would be pitch-black night. Something must 
be done to drive away their visitor before it 
became too dark to see. Neither boy had any 
inclination to pass the night in the brush while 
the bear occupied their tent. 

“Shall we shoot?” eagerly demanded Paul. 


A TRIP BY CANOE 


173 

“At this distance we ought to wreck him with 
our guns.” 

“Nothing doing, Fat. Number Eight 
shot in a shot-gun is n’t calculated to do much 
damage to a bear, even at this short range. If 
he was ten feet away perhaps it would take 
effect, but not otherwise. There’s no use get¬ 
ting him mad by stinging him.” 

“Suppose I crawl up close and let him have 
it?” volunteered the stout boy. “I never did 
shoot a bear, and I ’d like to take a crack at 
one now.” 

But Skinny shook his head, and, in a de¬ 
cisive tone, said, “You keep away from him, 
Fat. We’re not on a bear-hunt; we’re 
lookin’ for a place to sleep. Besides, at this 
time of year that chap may have a family 
somewhere, and it would be rotten to break 
that up. People down here say that bears 
are harmless and scary, so I move we just 
charge at him yelling at the top of our lungs. 
If that does n’t drive him away, then we can 
use the guns.” 

This plan was finally agreed upon, though 


174 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

not without demur from the bloodthirsty Fat. 
“That skin would look good on the floor of our 
laboratory,” he grumbled. “Still, I suppose 
you ’re right, Skinny, and, perhaps”—hope¬ 
fully—“he won’t run when we yell.” Then in 
an assumed dolorous tone: “Yes he will— 
when he hears you . Either that or he ’ll go 
crazy and run amuck. Well, here goes.” 

Tightly clasping their weapons, both lads 
rose from their hiding-place and, with blood¬ 
curdling whoops, leaped toward the unfor¬ 
tunate bruin. The bear, awakened from 
pleasant dreams, looked up to see two yelling, 
screeching demons tearing down upon him 
from the brush that ringed the camp. On they 
came, brandishing their weapons and howl¬ 
ing like a score of dervishes. No grizzly 
could stand that volume of outlandish sound, 
let alone a poor, insignificant Florida black 
bear. Without a second of hesitation he 
crawled to his feet and, with a grunt of 
anguish painful to hear, departed at a gallop 
off into the night. He would never venture 
near that camp again. 

“Bah, that was too easy!” grumbled Fat, 



A TRIP BY CANOE 


i7S 

coming to a halt and listening to the crashes, 
which rapidly grew fainter as the beast has¬ 
tened to put miles between himself and that 
nightmare. The boy actually was disap¬ 
pointed that there had been no reason to shoot. 
Turning to Fred, he remarked dryly: 

“Your plan worked, old Skinny Shanks. I 
reckon that fellow won’t stop until he reaches 
Jacksonville, three hundred miles from here. 
If you had only listened to reason, however, 
we would have had a bear-rug by this time.” 

The night passed without further visitation, 
and at sunrise they continued the hunt. Fred 
decided to return to the jungle explored the 
day before, and Paul determined to travel up 
the creek in the canoe. Each lad was re¬ 
solved to locate the birds that day. 

“It’s absolutely necessary that we should,” 
declared Fred. “Red Whiskers is sure to, if 
we don’t, and he ’ll probably shoot them right 
of! the bat if he sees them. It’s up to us to 
get a photograph and to clear out as soon as 
possible.” 

“It’s a shame we only have one camera,” 
said Paul. “Let’s match to see who takes it.” 


176 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“No,” his friend was final on the subject. 
“You take it, Fat, in the canoe. Alone I 
could n’t very well lug it around all morning. 
You take it and use it if you have a chance. 
In the mean time I ’ll try on my own hook to 
locate the feeding-tree of the parrakeets, and 
if I’m successful we can spend the afternoon 
in getting pictures of the birds. You ’ll be 
back -by noon?” 

“You bet your sweet life I will! And if I 
get the chance I ’ll have a picture, too! I 
have a hunch that I’m going to see the birds 
this morning. I ’ll ferry you across the 
slough and leave you to your own devices. 
Don’t run afoul of Red Whiskers if you can 
help it.” 

“I ’ll try not to treat him rough if I do,” 
Fred grinned. “All right, Fat; let’s go. If 
there’s time, I’m going to work westward to¬ 
ward the boundary-house and say how-do to 
the man there.” 

Upon the departure of his chum, Paul 
headed the canoe down the length of the 
slough. The pace was slow, because of the 
heavy growth of water-lilies and marsh- 


A TRIP BY CANOE 


177 


grasses that luxuriated there, but in half an 
hour he had discovered the entrance to the 
creek. Then, instead of turning back in the 
direction they had come the evening before, 
he was the recipient of a “hunch,” and headed 
the craft down-stream parallel to the tract of 
jungle toward which Fred was making. 

After flowing due east for a mile the creek 
made a sharp turn to the right, and the boy 
saw that if it maintained its present course it 
would carry him to that same bit of forest. 
Highly pleased with this idea, he plied the 
paddle with energy, and the canoe sped for¬ 
ward. A few minutes later he was delighted 
to find himself speeding between two high 
walls of trees, which met overhead and shut 
out all hint of sunlight from the bed of the 
stream. He had entered the forest at a point 
farther to the eastward of the egret rookery 
than his chum had traveled on his explorations 
the previous day. 

As it entered the jungle the stream nar¬ 
rowed until it was scarcely eight feet wide. 
But it was extraordinarily deep, and the cur¬ 
rent was imperceptible. On either side the 


178 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

banks were lined with thick-growing trees of 
many varieties, all hung with streamers of 
Spanish moss and dotted with spine-leafed 
air-plants, the home, Paul knew, of numerous 
tiny tree-frogs and insects. Great branches, 
fringed with delicate, filmy resurrection- 
ferns, which curl up during periods of 
drought and unfurl their fronds at the return 
of moisture, hung low above his head, locking 
and interlocking with others from the opposite 
bank. A few orchids, gay but small, were 
imbedded among the ferns. Green and brown 
lizards sunned themselves on the branches in 
patches of filtered sunlight. 

Numerous tree-trunks lay across the stream 
just as they had fallen from time to time, and 
offered serious obstacles to the advance of the 
canoe. Of necessity the boy’s progress was 
slow, but he gradually won a way beneath the 
prostrate trunks until he was deep within the 
jungle. 

The creek twisted and turned, and very 
nearly looped back on itself. Egrets and 
herons flew up with startled squawks from its 
swampy banks. A pair of wood-ducks, be- 


A TRIP BY CANOE 


179 

lated on their spring journey north, splashed 
around a bend and, finding an opening 
through the canopy of branches, whirred off 
over the tree-tops. A bright yellow and 
black banded zebra butterfly darted uncer¬ 
tainly over his head and then flitted off into 
the heart of a tangle of lianas. A water- 
turkey, one of those long-necked uncanny 
darters, appeared close under the bank, swim¬ 
ming with its head above water and the rest 
of its body concealed beneath the surface. At 
sight of the canoe it paused a moment as if un¬ 
certain what to do; then in a swirl of water it 
disappeared, to come up again a hundred 
yards astern, having swum beneath the craft. 

At last Paul reached a barrier that effectu¬ 
ally stopped progress. A gigantic live-oak 
had toppled across the creek in such a manner 
that its head had fallen fairly in midstream. 
The entire waterway, from bank to bank and 
for twenty yards down-stream, was filled with 
a network of branches which, while they per¬ 
mitted the flow of water, forbade the passage 
of all else. Without an ax the boy was help¬ 
less to proceed. Unless he could successfully 


180 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


portage the canoe, the journey by water was at 
an end. 

Much dismayed, Paul drove the bow of the 
little craft into the bank and disembarked. 
The shore at that point was low, but firm un¬ 
derfoot, and, dragging the bow out of water 
to make certain that the canoe would not drift 
away, Paul set out to discover a path around 
the fallen forest monarch over which he could 
drag it. 

But in this he was doomed to disappoint¬ 
ment. The forest at that point was impene¬ 
trable for such a bulky object as a canoe. 
Without a machete it would be an impossi¬ 
bility to clear a way through the matting of 
vines, sharp-thorned brambles, and saplings 
which choked the spaces between the close¬ 
growing tree-trunks. The opposite shore of 
the creek was in the same condition. 

The boy, with a murmur of disgust, pre¬ 
pared to turn back. It seemed that his voy¬ 
age in that direction was over. He forced his 
way back to the canoe. 

But, not discouraged, Paul determined to 
paddle back a short distance and, arriving at 


A TRIP BY CANOE 181 

a more inviting spot, to leave the craft while 
he spent a short time exploring on foot. 

As his hand touched the bow of the boat 
preparatory to embarking, his keen ears 
caught a rustle of leaves overhead, and, look¬ 
ing U P> he observed a movement among the 
branches of a small tree overhanging the 
canoe. Paying slight heed to the sound, he 
had just placed a foot in the craft when a dull 
thump came to his ears, as if something soft 
and heavy had landed in its bottom. A glance 
sufficed to show what had occurred and, utter¬ 
ing a startled yell, he sprang back out of 
harm’s way. A snake had dropped from the 
tree into the canoe. 

We all know that Paul’s aversion to snakes 
was real and not affected. Therefore, it is 
not surprising that his retreat from the boat 
was more hasty than his approach to it. He 
bounded into the bushes and put a safe ten 
feet between himself and the new-comer. As¬ 
sured of his safety, he watched the serpent 
while it crawled slowly toward the center of 
the craft and coiled up near the camera that 
reposed there. 


182 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


Here was a new and unlooked-for compli¬ 
cation, and Paul then and there decided that 
this spot was the ideal one for leaving the 
canoe to begin the journey into the jungle. 
From the appearance of the serpent, it was 
there to stay, and he had not the slightest in¬ 
clination to disturb it. If it desired that 
canoe as a bed it was welcome so far as he was 
concerned. Perhaps in an hour or so it would 
decide upon a change of quarters, though at 
present its desires seemed inclined in the op¬ 
posite direction. At any rate, he would give 
it time to do whatever it wished. One look at 
that evil triangular head was sufficient to ac¬ 
quaint him with the venomous character of 
the reptile, and he had no inborn wish to ex¬ 
amine too closely a water-moccasin. 

Had he been his chum he might have acted 
in a different manner, but Paul was not Skinny 
and he had no morbid curiosity of that kind. 
He left the snake and departed into the forest, 
cautiously parting the bushes and examining 
each foot of ground for further reptiles as he 
advanced. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE PARRAKEETS 

H AVING torn a way through the 
tangle that lined the creek, Paul 
reached the more open forest and 
continued a cautious advance. His eyes 
eagerly sought out the trees that bore ripened 
fruit, all of which underwent a piercing 
scrutiny. His ears were sharpened to catch 
the faintest sound that would imply the pres¬ 
ence of a parrakeet. 

A hundred yards were covered in this man¬ 
ner before his steps were suddenly arrested. 
This time it was not the rustle of a snake; no 
cold shivers ran down his spine. Instead his 
face became suffused with excitement, and 
his heart pounded like a bass drum. A faint 
sound issued from the top of a fifty-foot tree 
standing on high ground a few yards ahead 

of him. He drew a sharp breath. 

183 


184 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

Could it be, he wondered, that he had found 
them? The bois-fidele , incorrectly named the 
fiddlewood-tree, to which the sounds were 
traceable, stood away from its neighbors in 
a small opening of the forest. He recognized 
it by its narrow, pointed leaves and strips of 
small dark fruit, which looked, at that 
distance, for all the world like clusters of ordi¬ 
nary, hedgerow-variety choke-cherries. And 
among these clusters he thought he discerned 
a slight movement. 

Stepping as stealthily as he was able, Paul 
crept slowly forward, taking advantage of 
every bit of cover that served to shield his 
movements from the tree. The little commo¬ 
tion in its upper branches had ceased. The 
bois-fidele seemed as empty of feathered life 
as any other tree in the forest. Not a leaf 
quivered; not a berry dropped to the ground. 

From past experience in the tropics the boy 
knew exactly what had occurred. The parra- 
keets, if they were actually there, had become 
aware of his presence. Their feeding had 
stopped, and, silent as graven images, they 


THE PARRAKEETS 185 

were staring in his direction. The green of 
their bodies blended exactly with the green of 
the foliage, and until they moved it would be 
impossible to decipher their outline. 

Paul, veteran that he was, stood stock-still 
and watched. Presently, when they had be¬ 
come used to his presence, the birds would 
again begin feeding. Of this he was assured 
a few minutes later when his sharp eyes 
caught a second movement in the tree far up 
near the top. A few berries rattled upon the 
dead leaves below, and a low klee-klee 
reached his ears. There arose a fluttering 
among the pointed leaves, and a bird, scarcely 
as large as a mourning-dove, darted forth. 
For an instant it hovered in mid-air before 
merging again into the tree. The perform¬ 
ance was repeated, and then, with a chorus 
of harsh klee-klees, five parrakeets left the 
bois-fidele and flew off over the jungle-top. 

Paul trembled all over with excitement; 
his gun very nearly dropped from his fingers. 
Instead, however, of appearing downcast at 
the sudden departure of the birds, he seemed 


186 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


almost pleased, and a grin spread over his 
features.. Past experience told him that the 
parrakeets would shortly return. 

And he was right. Five minutes later, hav¬ 
ing circled above the forest in a series of short, 
erratic dashes, the birds settled back in the 

i 

bois-fidele . 

There were five of them! Paul could have 
hugged himself. Five parrakeets waiting for 
their picture to be taken! A bird for every 
thousand dollars of reward! It will be ad¬ 
mitted, however, that the boy did not think 
long of the money. His instincts as a natu¬ 
ralist were aroused. The reward sank into 
insignificance at the thought that he, a natu¬ 
ralist, had seen a living, screeching, flying, 
Carolina parrakeet! All that remained to be 
done now was to set up the camera and snap 
the birds as they fluttered, feeding, about the 
tree. 

The camera? Paul’s heart sank with a dis¬ 
tinct thud into the depths of his shoes. A 
water-moccasin was coiled in the canoe be¬ 
side the camera! 

Setting his jaw, the boy turned back into 


I 


THE PARRAKEETS 187 

the forest toward the craft. Snake or no 
snake, he was going to have a picture of those 
birds. The reptile must be ousted, and ousted 
quickly! 

A short while later he stood beside the 
canoe and peered cautiously into it. Yes, 
there was the camera and—the cottonmouth, 
twisted into a heap near it, apparently asleep. 
What was he to do now? The mere sight of 
the hideous reptile aroused within him a re¬ 
vulsion of feeling. 

Paul shrugged his shoulders and com¬ 
pressed his lips. He refused to allow his 
mind to dwell on the possibilities of that ugly 
creature. He deliberated upon the best means 
of getting rid of it. There was his gun, and 
it would be a simple matter to blow the in¬ 
truder to smithereens, but to the destruction 
of both canoe and camera. He shook his 
head. The moccasin must be frightened 
away; that was the only way out of the di¬ 
lemma. 

Arming himself with a stout club fashioned 
from a dead branch, and nerving himself for 
the fray, Fat returned to the vessel. In the 



188 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


other hand he held a long switch with which 
to arouse the serpent. His gun, after a long 
mental struggle, he had decided to leave in 
the bushes. 

Paul stood on the bank above the canoe. 
Taking a deep breath, he hazarded a soft 
thrust with the switch at the cottonmouth. 

The snake, painfully aroused from a deep 
slumber by a prod from the stick, struck out 
savagely without thought, as all snakes do by 
instinct. It reared up until it seemed that it 
would balance erect on its tail, and then, with 
a frightened hiss, terrified at the sudden in¬ 
trusion into its slumbers, it literally sprang 
over the gunwale into the creek. The brown 
water closed over it and hid it from sight. 

At the sudden movement of the snake, Paul 
staggered back up the bank, startled beyond 
expression. Then, overcome by weakness, he 
sat down with a grunt. Presently he burst 
into a laugh at himself for his fears. The 
cottonmouth had proved a greater coward 
than he. 

It took but a short while to reach the bois- 


THE PARRAKEETS 189 

fidele with the camera. Using extreme care, 
the boy focused it on the tree. The tripod 
was hidden by a growth of vines, and only the 
bright eye of the lens could be seen by the 
parrakeets. The birds paid slight attention 
to the photographer beyond remaining si¬ 
lent until his preparations were completed. 
Thereafter they commenced feeding noisily as 
before, causing the little dark berries to 
shower in a ceaseless patter on the ground. 

Paul stood beside the camera and waited. 
A mere photograph of the tree would show 
nothing, so intimately did the birds and foli¬ 
age blend in color. He must exercise pa¬ 
tience. They must be caught by a fast snap¬ 
shot when they left the bois-fidele on one of 
their short periodic flights. 

This he presently succeeded in doing, not 
once, but several times, and felt duly elated in 
consequence. And then, to cap the climax, 
a view was obtained of a single bird which 
had sidled out upon the tiptop twig, where 
grew some strings of luscious berries. It was 
outlined dark against the bright blue sky, but, 


190 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

nevertheless, Paul knew that an enlargement 
of the photograph would show more than a 
black silhouette. 

Scarcely believing in his good fortune, the 
boy folded up the camera and tripod. He 
placed the used plate-holders in their case and 
drew a deep breath of thanksgiving. The ob¬ 
ject of the expedition was accomplished. If 
the negatives proved good, as he had excellent 
reason to believe they would, Fred and he 
would hurry them off to the museum by post 
at the earliest opportunity, and their case 
would be proved before the United Ornitho¬ 
logical Societies. It but remained to develop 
the plates as soon as night fell, and on the 
morrow Jeff Down would call for the hunters 
in the car. Fred and he were close to the 
prize now. They had beaten Mr. Parker and 
the Union Museum. By luck and diligent 
search they had stumbled on the parra- 
keets within four days of their arrival in 
Florida. 

Paul was exultant. He had accomplished 
what the ornithological societies had thought 
the impossible. Old Red Whiskers had 


THE PARRAKEETS 


191 

fallen out of the running. He was defeated, 
and all his— 

The boy suddenly came back to earth. 
Some one advanced through the forest in his 
direction. He could hear the crunch of 
leaves underfoot and the scrape of twigs 
against cloth. An instant later the bushes 
parted, and Mr. Parker, the very man he had 
been thinking of, stood before him. 

For a moment Paul stared at the new-comer 
in profound amazement not unmingled with 
perturbation. What was the man doing 
there? and the parrakeets feeding above them 
in the tree! Groaning inwardly at the inop¬ 
portune arrival, Paul forced a smile to his 
face and greeted his rival. 

“Any luck?” he inquired. 

Parker glanced suspiciously at the camera 
and back at Fat. The parrakeets, made wary 
by this new visitation to their feeding-grounds, 
perched silent and apparently unobserved by 
the intruder. 

“I suppose you ’re young Jenkins,” said the 
man, permitting Paul’s question to remain un¬ 
answered. “I am Parker of the Union 


192 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

Museum, as your friend has doubtless in¬ 
formed you. I thought you chaps were going 
to move farther south to-day.” 

“We were,” Paul returned, thinking 
rapidly, and inwardly offering a fervent 
prayer that the parrakeets might maintain 
their quiet. “We were, and then at the last 
moment changed our minds. We thought you , 
also, were going.” 

Parker’s gray eyes sparkled, and his beard 
hid a satirical smile. “So I was,” he said, 
“but I, too, altered my mind. I see you have 
a camera; been taking pictures?” 

“Oh, a few,” was the careless response. 
How Paul inwardly quivered. He must get 
Parker away from there! “Nothing to 
amount to much,” he continued, U I was just 
returning to the canoe when you came along. 
Would you care to come with me?” 

“Canoe?” The man was openly astonished. 
“Is there a river near here?” 

“A small creek; that’s all. It runs by our 
camp, and I took advantage of it this morn¬ 
ing to reach the forest.” Paul cast a fearful 
glance at the bois-fidele, from which his ear 



For a moment Paul stared at the newcomer in amazement 


































' 


















































































THE PARRAKEETS 


i 93 


had detected a faint rustle, and, raising his 
voice, he continued loudly: “We’d be very 
glad if you will lunch with us, Mr. Parker. 
It’s a short way in the canoe, and we can reach 
camp in less than an hour. Let’s hurry; don’t 
you want to?” 

Parker hesitated a moment and then 
nodded. The boy stooped down to pick up 
the camera. As he did so, while his eyes 
were turned in the opposite direction, the man 
threw a cunning glance at the berry-tree; but 
he said nothing and followed, while Paul 
blithely led the way toward the creek. 

Fat was happy. He had succeeded in lead¬ 
ing his rival away from the vicinity before 
the parrakeets resumed their feeding and chat¬ 
tering, as they were likely to do at any mo¬ 
ment, and he felt that the day was saved. 
Parker, in apparent ignorance of how near he 
had been to the birds, followed close at his 
heels. 


CHAPTER XVII 


A DREADFUL DISCOVERY 

T HEY had left the neighborhood of the 
bois-fidele . Paul was beginning to 
breathe freely, when of a sudden 
Parker and he were startled by the sound of 
two shots coming from near the spot they had 
just left Following the reports came terri¬ 
fied cries from the parrakeets, and the entire 
five flew, screeching, close to the tree-tops over 
the hunters’ heads. In his consternation Paul 
nearly dropped both gun and camera. 

“Good Lord, there they go!” he groaned, 
voicing his confusion aloud. 

“Why, they are parrakeets!” cried Parker, 
in assumed astonishment. “Good heavens, 
boy, they must have been feeding close to 
where I met you!” 

“S-so t-they must!” Paul tried hard to ap¬ 
pear surprised, and succeeded but poorly. 
“S-shall we go after them?” 


194 


A DREADFUL DISCOVERY 195 

“It’s too late now,” declared his companion, 
ruefully shaking his head. “They’ve—” 

Parker’s words were cut short by a third 
shot. “Who can be doing all the firing?” he 
demanded in an irritated tone. “Whoever 
it is ought to be locked up.” 

Paul did not answer. He was listening. 

“Halloo,” he called. “Who are you?” 

“Is that you, Fat?” came an answering 
shout. “It’s me! Come back here; I need 
some help, quick!” 

Skinny was in trouble. 

With a word to his companion to follow, 
Paul, not losing a second, dropped his photo¬ 
graphic outfit, and, thrusting his gun into a 
position of readiness, hastened in the direction 
of the calls. The forest there was quite open 
and, despite having to dodge around several 
fallen trees and hummocks of vines, he made 
good time. Fred repeated his cries, and in 
less than a minute after he had heard the last 

1 

shot Paul stood beside his chum. 

“What’s the matter, Skinny?” he gasped, 
breathing hard and gazing around for the 
victim of Fred’s shots. “What happened?” 


196 the last parrakeet 

So far as he could see, nothing extraordinary 
had occurred. His chum stood unharmed, 
and the forest appeared deserted except for 
the boys. No beast lay bleeding on the 
ground. 

But Fred hastened to put him right. “See 
those bushes?” he said, indicating a thick mass 
of shrubbery. “Well, it’s in there!” 
“What?” 

“I don’t know for sure—some kind of cat. 
I had a few shots and think it’s crippled. At 
any rate, it’s hidden there.” 

“Well let’s finish it,” panted Fat in a re¬ 
lieved voice, advancing toward the clump. 
Reaching the bushes he began to thrash 
around with his gun held at arm’s-length by 
the stock, evidently in the hope of arousing 
the creature by the noise. With an exclama¬ 
tion of alarm due to a more varied experience 
with such wounded cats, Fred ran after 
him, and, seizing his chum, dragged him 
back. 

“Are you crazy, man?’ 1 he expostulated. 
“You ought to have more sense, Fat, than 
that! You know as well as I do that a cor- 


A DREADFUL DISCOVERY 197 

nered cat is about as bad a proposition as a 
person wants to buck up against.” 

“But it’s only a wildcat.” 

“Wildcat nothing! And even if it was it 
would be mighty dangerous when hurt. It 
looked more like a puma!” 

“Huh? what did you say? There aren’t 
any pumas in Florida. They ’re found—” 

“Hi, look out!” cried Fred, throwing his 
weapon to his shoulder and firing both barrels 
as fast as his finger could work the triggers. 
Paul had a vision of a huge, tawny body hurl¬ 
ing from the brush straight for him. 

Even as the beast sprang, while it was still 
in the air, the fat boy fired from his hip and, 
quick as thought, flung himself flat on his 
face. The body passed over and fell with a 
thud just clear of him. 

Paul lay where he was, afraid to move a 
muscle, expecting momentarily to feel a pair 
of great clawed feet tear at his exposed back. 
Ten seconds passed—ten minutes they seemed 
to the boy—and nothing happened. 

Fred tugged feverishly at his pocket and 
succeeded in releasing two more cartridge^ 




) 



198 the last parrakeet 

which he thrust into his gun. Then, rushing 
up to the prostrate beast, he placed the muzzle 
against its head. There was no need to fire; 
the great creature was dead. One of their 
shots, his or Paul’s, had done the work; a full 
charge of shot had smashed into the brain of 
the cat. 

Satisfied that the creature could do no fur¬ 
ther harm, Fred next turned attention to his 
chum. Kneeling beside him, half fearful of 
what he might discover, he grasped him 
gently by the shoulder. “Are you hurt?” he 
asked, almost afraid to put the question. 

At the touch of his chum, Paul, thinking it 
was the cat, shivered; but, upon hearing the 
other speak, he raised himself to a sitting posi¬ 
tion. “Gemini, I thought you were that chap 
cornin’ to finish me! No, I’m not hurt. He 
never touched me, but, let me tell you, he 
came mighty near it! Where is he?” 

Fred pointed to the dark body lying just 
beyond them and, thus assured, Fat rose 
shakily to his feet. It took nearly a minute 
to recover himself, and then he turned to his 
companion and in a husky voice said: 


A DREADFUL DISCOVERY 199 

“I guess you saved me that time, Skinny. I 
reckon I ’ll pay attention to you next time.” 
His memory drifted back to a similar occasion 
in South America when Skinny had rescued 
him in much the same manner. A wry smile 
spread over his grimy, perspiring face, and 
he muttered ruefully, “I’m afraid I never 
will learn.” 

The other boy waved a deprecating hand. 
“Of course you will. You saved yourself, 
Fat. It was your shot just as you went down 
that did the trick,” 

Together they examined the great cat. It 
was nearly twice the size of an ordinary wild¬ 
cat and bore a long tail like a puma. But the 
body was more lithe in build, the legs thinner 
and more fine-cut. The ears were not tufted 
with hair as in a wildcat, nor were the flanks 
streaked and mottled. It was unicolor, but 
of a darker tawny hue than a mountain-lion. 

“What would you call it?” finally de¬ 
manded Paul, still at sea over the character 
of the beast, when he had completed his ex¬ 
amination. “I never saw anything quite like 


200 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“Neither have I,” acknowledged his chum, 
“but I know what it is. It’s a panther, a 
Florida panther, now supposed to be practi¬ 
cally extinct, and a close relative to the moun¬ 
tain-lion.” 

“This one is extinct,” said Paul dryly; then, 
struck by a pleasing thought, “I guess it makes 
up for the bear we did n’t shoot. But tell me, 
Skinny, how you happened to be in this part 
of the woods? I thought you were going the 
other way.” 

“I was,” Fred grinned, “but something hap¬ 
pened to take me in this direction. I was pass¬ 
ing a patch of that curious holly whose leaves 
have n’t any prickles like our regular Christ¬ 
mas stuff, when I saw a wild turkey stalk out 
of it, followed by about eight little young ones. 
They were about the cutest things I ever laid 
eyes on, little balls of fluff, brown and gray 
mottled, and hardly bigger than a minute. 
They could not have been more than a day old. 

“The old mother hen seemed pleased to 
death, stalking back and forth, herding them 
along as fast as she could. Every few feet 
she stopped to cuddle them for a second or 


A DREADFUL DISCOVERY 201 


two. She seemed in a hurry and yet was un¬ 
willing to move faster than the little beggars 
could travel. 

“I wondered what had driven her out of 
the covert, and mighty soon found out. It 
was our friend lying there; all this happened 
not fifty yards from this spot. He sprang 
out of the holly square at the turkey. 

“Now, you ’d think the turk would have run, 
but nothing doing. Instead, she just clucked 
to her young ones, which disappeared like 
magic beneath the leaves and under protect- 
ing logs. Turning toward the cat, the hen 
ruffled her feathers and prepared to fight to 
the end for her family. And it would have 
been the end for her, too, if I had n’t taken 
pity and fired. Those chicks were too cute 
to be allowed to starve to death without a 
parent. 

“I only had fine shot in the gun, but at that 
short distance it hit the panther hard. At any 
rate, the beast let out a howl and rushed over 
to that clump where you found him. That’s 
all there was to it.” 

“But what was it that brought you in this 


202 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


direction?” Paul demanded. “You said you 
were going to visit the boundary-house several 
miles over to the westward.” 

Fred chuckled. “I might ask you the same 
question,” he retorted. “When last seen, you 
were headed down the slough in a canoe.” 
An expression of anger replaced the smile on 
his face. “The reason why I came is simple 
enough. I found more dead egrets in the 
lagoon; that’s all; and later in the morning I 
discovered Red Whiskers snooping around. 
I followed him.” 

At the mention of Parker, Paul gave a start. 
Until that instant he had forgotten the man. 
It suddenly came to him that Parker, after 
all, had not followed him to Fred’s rescue. 

“By Jove!” he cried, slapping his thigh in 
disgust. “I’d clean forgotten! Skinny, do 
you know what I’ve done this morning? I’ve 
taken the pictures of five parrakeets!” 

He paused and gazed expectantly at his 
chum. Nor was he mistaken concerning the 
manner in which the latter would receive the 
information. 

“You have?” shouted Fred. “Hurray, Fat, 


A DREADFUL DISCOVERY 203 

you successful old porpoise! Great day, 
we’re through then, finished! Parker’s 
beaten! Great stuff, I say! But where ’s the 
camera?” 

“Back in the woods. When I heard you 
call I dropped everything and rushed to your 
assistance. The chap you were following is 
back there with the stuff.” 

“Who? Parker? Heavens, Fat, he ’ll 
steal it!” 

“He does n’t know about the parrakeets,” 
Paul began, and then paused. He remem¬ 
bered that, at the sound of Fred’s shots, the 
birds had noisily left the bois-fidele, causing 
the forest to echo with their cries. Parker 
had heard them, and it was quite possible that 
he might draw conclusions concerning the 
camera. “Let’s get back to where I left it,” 
the stout boy said, uneasily. “I told Red 
Whiskers to follow, but he has n’t shown up.” 

Between them they managed to lift the body 
of the panther, and with it, though bending 
under the heavy weight, they made off toward 
the spot where Paul had left his rival and 
the photographing outfit. A few minutes 


204 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

later they dropped their burden beside the 
camera, which lay where Paul had left it. 
Nothing was disturbed; the tripod and plate- . 
holder case lay beside it. Parker, however, 
was gone, and nothing but echoes answered 
the calls of the boys. 

“I wonder why he beat it like that?” mut¬ 
tered Paul, feeling disturbed despite himself. 

“I invited him back to camp for lunch, and 
now he sneaks off without a word of explana¬ 
tion.” 

“Parrakeets,” grunted Fred; “he heard 
them and started out to find them.” 

“Right,” his companion agreed. “That be¬ 
ing the case, it behooves us to get back to 
camp with speed. There ’s no time to be lost, 
and I move that, instead of waiting for Jeff 
to call for us to-morrow, we pull out as soon 
as we get there and try to get back to Thrasher 
on foot. If Parker gets one of those birds, 
he ’ll make tracks for the train as fast as he 
can leg it.” 

As this was sound reasoning, the boys hastily 
picked up the camera and its outfit, and, once 
more heaving the great cat on their shoulders, 


A DREADFUL DISCOVERY 205 

set out at full speed for the canoe. This was 
but a short distance away, and soon they were 
paddling for dear life up-stream. 

During the journey, Paul regaled his chum 
with the story of how he had photographed 
the birds, and related his experience with the 
water-moccasin. Fred, in turn, spoke about 
the devastated egret rookery. 

“Parker must have shot twenty more, at 
least,” he said. “In one spot I found eight 
bodies alone piled up, and others were scat¬ 
tered all over the place. It’s a crime that 
he ’ll suffer for when we get back to New 
York. He must have been shooting all yes¬ 
terday afternoon while we were away in the 
pine-woods out of sound of his shots. He’s 
a bold chap! I was examining some of the 
bodies when I caught sight of him sneaking 
along one of the banks of the lagoon. He 
must have seen me at the same time, for he 
turned back into the woods. I started to fol¬ 
low with the idea of trailing him back to his 
camp on the chance of being able to spirit the 
plumes away. Just before I met up with the 
turkey and panther he halted and seemed to 


206 the last parrakeet 


be watching something, but what I could n’t 
make out. Then he started ahead again; but 
after that I was occupied with the cat.” 

“Humph/ 1 observed Paul, now decidedly 
disturbed, “I wonder if he was watching 
me? But if that was the case, why did n’t he 
just sally in and shoot one of the birds? 
That’s what he’d most likely do if he got the 
chance.” 

Upon reaching camp, they at once began 
preparations for the long hike, which would 
last all the afternoon and part of the night. 
Paul warmed some beans over the fire, while 
Fred began to skin the panther. As this was 
a slow job, lunch was ready long before the 
skin had been entirely removed from the car¬ 
cass. When at length this arduous duty was 
performed, the boys consumed their meal in 
a hurry and were ready to depart. The sun 
had reached its zenith, and there was no time 
to be lost. 

As Fred, his hunger satisfied, rose from the 
camp-fire, he accidentally struck against the 
plate-holder case and sent it rolling over on 


A DREADFUL DISCOVERY 207 

its side. With an exclamation of annoyance 
at his blundering, he righted it. 

“Gemini,” he cried, stooping to examine 
the case, “if I don’t look out, I ’ll smash those 
things! No harm done this time, though!” 

“No,” agreed Paul, “I guess it didn’t fall 
hard enough to damage its contents, but we’ve 
got to be mighty careful with them. They 
mean a lot to us. Hello, what’s the matter?” 

Fred had thrown back the cover of the black 
leather box to have a look at its contents. The 
sight that greeted him drew an exclamation 
from his lips in the form of a groan. 

“What’s the matter, Skinny?” again de¬ 
manded Paul, alarmed at the sudden paleness 
of the other. 

“Sand!” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Sand! The case is half full of sand! 
There are no plate-holders in it!” 

To demonstrate his words, Fred turned the 
receptacle upside down, and a stream of white 
Florida sand trickled out. There was noth¬ 
ing else. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


ON THE TRAIL OF THE PLATES 

M AYBE he ’s going to get away with 
them and maybe he is n’t!” savagely 
snapped Fred, when the two hunt¬ 
ers had recovered from the panic that first fol¬ 
lowed the discovery of their loss. “The 
scoundrel overshot himself once, and that was 
enough to finish him. Don’t forget we have 
this.” 

He thrust a hand into his pocket and ex¬ 
tracted the crumpled telegraph form picked 
up on the previous day. Paul took it from 
his chum and, unfolding it with due care, 
read the following aloud: 

F. C. Parker, Hatchet, Florida. 

Secured part fresh skin parrakeet from collec¬ 
tion brought by revenue officers to museum. 
Holding for you as ordered. 

[Signed] Partridge. 

* 208 




ON THE TRAIL OF PLATES 209 

Paul stuffed the form into his pocket and 
turned to Fred with the first smile that had 
crossed his face in half an hour. “I reckon 
you ’re right, Skinny; we have it on him. If 
he uses our plates we’ll use this telegram; 
we ’ll use it anyway when we get back. It 
ought to stop any further tricks of his. But 
who is Partridge?” 

“Don’t you know?” 

Paul shook his head. 

“There’s an attendant at the museum—be¬ 
longs in Dr. Keene’s office—by that name,” 
said Fred. “He must be—” 

The other interrupted with a grunt. “Huh! 
of course he’s the man! Don’t you re¬ 
member? He was the chap who came into 
the laboratory that time to tell us that Dr. 
Keene wanted us. The parrakeet skin was 
lying right before his eyes, and I thought at 
the time that he appeared mightily interested 
in it. You can bet on it, he’s the man! He 
is the only Partridge in the museum that 
is n’t stuffed and in a glass case.” 

“There’s no doubt about it, Fat,” his chum 
agreed. “He probably got a big sum for do- 


210 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

ing it. Well, it’s the last time he ’ll try any¬ 
thing of that sort. But now let’s get back 
to the present. We’ve got to get those plates 
back.” 

“You can just bet your neck we have!” 
Paul declared bitterly. “And, what’s more, 
we’ve got to get busy about it right now!” 

“Let’s see,” murmured the other, thinking 
deeply. “Red Whiskers’ headquarters evi¬ 
dently are at Hatchet, the place mentioned 
in the telegram. We passed Hatchet some 
twenty or thirty miles before reaching Pros¬ 
perity. It can’t be so many miles from here 
and is off to the westward, for we are east of 
the railroad; of that we ’re positive.” 

Paul agreed with a nod, and earnestly 
added: “Yes, and old Whiskers will make 
straight for it. He’s on his way there now.” 

“Then,” Fred announced with decision, 
“we’ve got to intercept him.” 

He rose and entered the tent, returning in a 
few moments with a time-table of the local 
railroad. On its back was a rough map of 
the region, the line of the railroad being 


ON THE TRAIL OF PLATES 211 


marked by a crooked black streak across the 
white surface. 

“Here’s Hatchet,” said Skinny, pointing to 
a spot on the map, “and here is about where 
we are. See, it can’t be more than ten miles 
in a straight line, and the railroad swings to 
bring it almost due south of us. The son of a 
gun!” he remarked bitterly. “If we’d fol¬ 
lowed his directions about reaching that patch 
of jungle where he’d been informed that 
parrakeets were to be found, we would have 
landed right in the town! That would have 
been a jolt!” 

“It is fortunate we did n’t take his advice,” 
was the dry acknowledgment. “As far as I 
can make out from this map, the shortest way 
to Hatchet is straight through the woods by 
the egret lagoon until we hit the railroad 
track. Let’s get going. There’s not a sec¬ 
ond more to be lost.” 

“How about stopping at the boundary- 
house and borrowing a horse?” 

“Nothing doing. We don’t know exactly 
where the house is, and we ’re not sure that 


2i2 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


the man there has any horses handy. We 
have n’t the time to find out. Come on.” 

Thus, instead of heading toward Thrasher 
as had been the original intention, they turned 
in exactly the opposite direction and, having 
crossed the slough, soon were plunging 
through the meadow that separated them 
from the forest. Dozens of herons flew up, 
startled into sudden, graceful flight at their 
approach, but the boys vouchsafed these not 
a casual glance. Before the subtropical for¬ 
est had been reached, Paul stumbled on the 
nest of a boat-tailed grackle in which reposed 
three small, heavily marked eggs, but, instead 
of pausing to admire, both lads, without a 
thought, passed it by. A rare sand-hill crane 
drove by on stately beating wings and went 
unnoticed. A large black snake wriggled 
into the grass almost from beneath his feet, 
and Paul did not even shudder. 

Arriving at the edge of the jungle, they 
paused an instant for breath and then struck 
into the brush. A flock of quail greeted their 
entrance to the covert with a thunderous roar 
of wings and scattered to the four winds. A 


ON THE TRAIL OF PLATES 213 

great red-crested woodpecker called hoarsely 
from the topmost branch of a moss-hung 
cypress and departed with loud flutter and 
uneven, undulating flight to a spot that 
boasted of fewer hurrying human beings. A 
wildcat, hidden safely behind a tuft of tall 
feathery ferns, glared at them with fierce yel¬ 
low eyes until they passed from sight. A stray 
half-dozen steers, grazing on the meager 
herbage, lifted startled heads and, turning, 
fled blindly into the bush. And, behind them, 
all unseen by the unsuspecting boys, stalked 
a dark, dog-like form which, consumed with 
true canine curiosity, ever kept them within 
its vision. 

Fred and Paul paused again at the lagoon, 
drawn by a morbid curiosity to gaze at the 
heap of dead and mutilated egrets that Fred 
pointed out. Then, with tightened lips, they 
pressed forward. 

“He just about finished that rookery,” 
panted Paul, as they floundered ahead. 
“We ’ll get him for that if we have to follow 
clear to New York.” 

Fred silently acknowledged this, and they 


2I 4 the last parrakeet 

climbed the boundary fence. Once past this, 
the territory was new to them, and, in conse¬ 
quence, their advance was slower. Unknown 
swamps and hummocks beset the way and 
necessitated numerous detours. Progress in 
the direction of Hatchet grew slow and pres¬ 
ently came to an absolute stop. A second 
slough, similar to the one near camp, ran east 
and west directly across their path. Al¬ 
though a network of aqueous weeds covered 
the surface, it was deep, treacherous, and 
impassable. 

“It’s all over but the shouting,” groaned 
Paul, casting a despairing glance up and 
down the unwelcome barrier for a possible 
fording-place. “Old Whiskers knows the 
way around this, and we don’t. He’s got us 
stopped, Skinny.” 

“No, he has n’t.” The other refused to 
admit defeat; determination was writ strong 
across his face. “He’s either gone around 
the slough or taken a path that led in another 
direction.” 

“No, he has n’t,” Paul, in turn, dolefully 
contradicted. He pointed across the weedy 


ON THE TRAIL OF PLATES 215 

stretch of water. “He crossed over in a boat; 
see its stern slickin’ out from the bushes on 
the other side?” 

Fred followed the direction of his chum’s 
finger and saw the square end of a small bateau 
projecting from beneath the branches of a 
live-oak that hung over the slough. All doubt 
that this was the conveyance used by Parker 
was removed when, fifty feet farther along 
the bank on which they stood, Paul discov¬ 
ered the imprint of the man’s tracks in the 
soft ooze that bordered the slough and the 
very log to which the boat had been tied. 

“That settles it!” It was now Fred’s turn 
to lament. “We ’re finished!” 

But, as the spirits of the other ebbed, Paul 
recovered his confidence in proportion. 
Parker had not yet escaped them. There 
must be an end to the slough somewhere, and 
they must find it. No train going toward Fort 
Myers passed through Hatchet until early the 
next morning, and if it was humanly possible 
they would reach that town before then. 
What they would do when they found Parker 
he was not so certain. 


216 the last parrakeet 


“Buck up, old Skinny Shanks,” he encour¬ 
aged. “All we’ve got to do is to strike west 
until we come to the railroad track and then 
follow it into town. It means only a few 
miles out of the way. I wish, after all, we 
had gone for those horses. But it’s too late 
now. We Ve got to do the best we can.” 

“And in the mean time have him escape us,” 
said Fred bitterly. 

“Don’t worry, old scout, he can’t leave be¬ 
fore daylight, and we ’ll be there long before 
that time.” 

“Maybe so; perhaps we’ll get those plates 
back yet!” Fred was regaining his spirits. 

“I have a hunch that the slough is n’t so 
long,” continued Paul. “We ’ll save time by 
going around it instead of walking five or six 
miles to the track. That we can leave as a 
last resource in case night overtakes us. It 
ought to be easy to follow the rails in that 
event.” 

“Right you are, Fat,” agreed the other, 
finally beginning to look cheerful. “It 
does n’t make so much difference, after all, if 
we can’t catch Red Whiskers before he 


ON THE TRAIL OF PLATES 217 

reaches Hatchet. Suppose you scout east, 
and I ’ll follow the west bank. I’m willing 
to bet this slough is n’t over a mile long. If 
one of us can get around to the bateau he can 
wait there until the other either meets him or 
returns to this spot. 

“Let’s both go west,” urged Paul sensibly. 
“Then, if the slough does n’t end, we can con¬ 
tinue on to the railroad without delay.” 

As this was good common sense, without 
further loss of time, having recovered their 
breath, they turned westward along the 
northern bank. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE ACCIDENT 

T HE growth along the edge of the 
slough was dense, composed of thick 
gnarled bushes armed with half-inch 
thorns, and, where the sun beat strongest, of 
tall bamboo-like briers that knit the brush to¬ 
gether into an impenetrable mat and sent 
their thin, snaky tendrils to the tops of the 
tallest trees. 

The ground underfoot was soft and mucky, 
and at every step the boys sank in ankle-deep. 

Impatient and somewhat tired by a few 
rods of soggy trudging, they were forced to 
give up the plan of following close to the 
edge, and therefore chose a parallel course 
about fifty feet back in the forest where the 
land was higher and the soil firm. 

Half a mile was covered, and still the 
slough stretched on as far as they could see. 

218 


THE ACCIDENT 


219 


It appeared to be uniformly about one hun¬ 
dred yards wide and gave no evidence of a 
possible crossing, although the forest skirting 
it became more open. Glade followed glade. 
Many were matted with brown, sun- 
scorched grass and dotted with low palmetto 
clumps. In other glades the growth of ver¬ 
dure was sparse, and the sandy soil gleamed 
either white or rusty red in the rays of the al¬ 
ready waning sun. There followed more 
stretches of jungle, a hummock or two, and a 
lone cypress swamp. Then an open watery 
meadow, and, after that, patches of sand. 
The slough lost its weedy character and as¬ 
sumed the look of a broad river. 

The boys crossed a small knoll covered 
with pines and marked by innumerable little 
sandy mounds, thrown out by the small bur¬ 
rowing salamanders. Here, they paused 
to rest and allow the perspiration to dry on 
their streaming faces. And here, by the 
rarest good fortune, they stumbled on one of 
the little creatures which, for some wholly in¬ 
conceivable reason, had left its tunnel home 
for a sojourn into the open air. If it had re- 


220 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


mained quiet instead of attempting a hurried 
escape at their approach, the boys would 
have passed it by unnoticed, and the little ro¬ 
dent would not have been treated to a fright 
that probably lasted it the rest of its short 
life. 

Fred first spied the tiny creature scurrying 
through the thin grass as fast as its short 
stubby legs would carry it, which, in reality, 
was not very fast. With a word to Paul, 
still breathing hard, he climbed to his feet 
and headed the salamander off from the small 
opening in the ground toward which it was 
pointed. The tiny beast whirled and faced 
its attacker with a fierce show of long rabbit¬ 
like teeth and a dauntless mien. 

The little creature was scarcely ten inches 
long, but had it been ten times that size it 
could not have put up a braver front. In 
color a light cinnamon-brown, with whitish 
feet and a short, almost naked tail, it was the 
incarnation of fierceness. An inhabiter of 
burrows like a mole, the salamander seldom 
sees the light of day, but spends its life dig¬ 
ging, feeding on tender roots, and sleeping. 


THE ACCIDENT 221 

When cornered, however, it is a sturdy little 
fighter. 

This Paul quickly learned when he ad¬ 
vanced his foot toward the animal in ques¬ 
tion. Instead of retreating as he had ex¬ 
pected, the tiny bit of fur sprang toward the 
offending shoe, and, if the boy had been less 
agile, would have pierced the leather with 
its teeth and gashed the flesh within. 

“Golly, he ’s a game little beggar!” the boy 
exclaimed in admiration, but drew back 
to a safer distance. “So that’s the Florida 
gopher, is it, Skinny?” 

“It sure is,” replied the other, “but down 
here it’s called the salamander. The gopher 
in Florida is a large land tortoise.” 

The stout lad nodded. “That’s so, but 
these are the real gophers. Gemini, look at 
that chap dig!” 

The salamander was burrowing for all it 
was worth. Having seized the opportunity 
while the boys talked, it already was half hid¬ 
den when Paul returned his attention to it. 

“Look at him dig!” he repeated, bending 
down, in his enthusiasm as a naturalist, for a 


222 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


closer study of the operation. A shower of 
sand smote his face and filled his eyes and 
mouth, causing him to choke. 

“Ho,” chuckled Fred, “he can dig, Fat.” 
Then soberly, with a returning thought to 
their quest: “Come on, Fat, we Ve more im¬ 
portant business to attend to than watching 
that thing. When we get those plates back we 
can examine salamanders and all those var¬ 
mints to our hearts’ content. Have you got 
your wind back?” 

But they had hardly, with renewed energy, 
traversed a hundred yards and were just about 
to leave the pine knoll to enter a patch of 
tropical-looking jungle when Fred, with a 
cry, stumbled and went down. Picking him¬ 
self up with an exclamation of annoyance at 
his clumsiness, he took a step forward, and 
then, groaning, once more sat down. 

“It’s my ankle!” he muttered, and turned 
a dismayed countenance to his companion. 

“You don’t mean that?” was the alarmed 
rejoinder; if Fred should be laid up they 
would have to give up all chance of over¬ 
taking Parker. “It’s not bad, Skinny, is it?” 


THE ACCIDENT 


223 


Paul pleaded. “You can walk all right, can’t 
you? Just sit there a minute and recover 
yourself. Here, take off your shoe and let 
me rub it. Pshaw, it’s hardly swelled at all I 
You ’ll be all right in a few seconds. There 
ought to be a law in this State preventin’ 
those turtle gophers from digging holes!” 

Despite Paul’s assertion to the contrary, the 
ankle was swollen, and the more he rubbed, 
the larger it seemed to grow. In a final effort 
to walk, Fred, gritting his teeth and leaning 
on the shoulder of his chum, attempted to rise 
and, succeeding, hobbled forward a few feet. 
That was the utmost he could do, and, his face 
pale and streaming with sweat, he was forced 
to sit down. It was of no use; he could not 
go on. 

“That finishes me!” he groaned, more from 
the anguish of disappointment than physical 
pain. “You’ve got to go on alone, Fat, and 
get those plates.” 

“And leave you here by yourself?” was the 
indignant response. “Nothing doing!” 

“But you’ve got to! Parker will get that 
reward if you don’t.” 


224 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“Let him! The plates can go hang for all 
I care!” Paul growled this assertion rather 
than spoke it. “I ’ll stick here with you. If 
he produces those photographs in New York 
as his, we ’ll produce the telegram from Part¬ 
ridge. That ought to spike his guns and make 
the U. O. S. sit up and take notice. Our word 
is as good as his.” 

Fred allowed a rueful smile to play across 
his face at this indignant outburst. He knew 
as well as his chum that the other’s indiffer¬ 
ence to the fate of the plates was assumed for 
the occasion. Armed with photographs to 
prove his assertion, Parker would have a clear 
case before the United Ornithological Socie¬ 
ties, despite all the boys could say. 

“No, you don’t, Fat,” he retorted. “You ’re 
going to start right away after Red Whis¬ 
kers.” Cutting short an emphatic denial that 
hovered on the lips of the other, he hastily con¬ 
tinued: “I’m going to camp right here. If 
you ’ll drag a couple of those old fallen logs 
up where I can get my hands on them to make 
a fire, I ’ll be O. K. until the morning. 
There’s enough dead wood within twenty 


THE ACCIDENT 


225 


yards to last a week. If it rains I’m out of 
luck, that’s all; but I reckon I can live 
through one wet night. Anyway, it is n’t go¬ 
ing to rain from the looks of the sky. I’ve 
enough water left in my canteen to last, and, 
as for food, well, I guess I won’t starve to 
death in twenty-four hours. In the mean 
time.you’ve got to get those plates.” 

After a short but heated argument, the plan 
was agreed upon. In a few minutes Paul had 
dragged up sufficient fire-wood to last out the 
night. He was fortunate enough to shoot a 
half-grown rabbit that leaped from beneath 
a pile of fallen brush at his approach, and 
thus his friend’s supper was assured. 

The accident, the argument, and the prep¬ 
aration for camp had consumed another pre¬ 
cious hour, and when Paul left his chum it 
was late afternoon. Already he was three 
hours behind his quarry and held scant hope 
of overtaking him before the settlement of 
Hatchet could be reached. And, beyond 
Hatchet, Paul had not the slightest idea of 
how to proceed. 

To his great delight the slough suddenly 


226 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


came to an abrupt end, and here the 
boy halted. The railroad could not be more 
than three miles to the west, and the town 
about eight miles down its tracks to the south¬ 
west. In a straight line Hatchet could not 
be more than six miles from where he stood. 
This was the problem: should he take the 
surer and longer way, or the shorter and more 
difficult? If night overtook him on the tracks 
it would be a simple matter to follow them, 
whereas, if it caught him in the bush, his case 
would be hopeless. Six miles of swamp and 
forest against three of bush and eight of rail¬ 
way track—and two hours of daylight! He 
chose the shorter course. 

Having made up his mind, Paul turned and 
hastened ahead. The way was more open 
than it had been, and he rejoiced that he had 
chosen this route. Broad meadow followed 
broad meadow, many under water, but with 
a firm bottom to tread upon. He passed 
several jungle islands that stood out like dark 
green hills in a sea of ripening grain—in 
reality sun-dried meadow-grass; and presently 



THE ACCIDENT 


22 7 

he encountered higher land forested with 
pines. 

A hundred yards within this forested belt 
he came upon a narrow sand road, running 
due southwest in the direction he desired to 
go, and doubtless leading to Hatchet. With 
his mind considerably lightened by this stroke 
of good fortune, he was about to begin a 
hurried journey along the thoroughfare when 
the sound of creaking wheels and muffled 
hoof-beats reached his ears. 

Following close upon the sound a vehicle 
rolled around a bend through the fast-gather¬ 
ing dusk, not forty yards distant. In it, hold¬ 
ing the reins and alone, rode Parker half 
slouched down in the seat and whistling softly 
to himself as if his soul was unweighted by a 
care in the world. He was headed straight 
away from Hatchet. 


CHAPTER XX 


PARKER AND PAUL 

P OOR Paul! The sight of his enemy 
held him speechless. He could only 
stare dumbly as the buckboard ap¬ 
proached. Both he and Fred had forgotten 
that Parker had said he owned a mule and 
wagon. Apparently the man had calmly 
driven to town, mailed the plates, and now 
was returning to his camp. 

But why, wondered the boy, should he re¬ 
turn? Why hadn’t he remained in Hatchet 
and taken the train north in the morning? It 
was inexplicable, and Paul was puzzled. The 
Everglades now had no call for Parker. 

“Why, it’s you!” hailed the man, drawing 
up beside the motionless figure at the road¬ 
side. “What are you doing here so far from 
your camp? This is a pleasure, believe me. 
Want a lift?” 


228 


PARKER AND PAUL 


229 


Scarcely knowing what he did, Paul 
nodded in a sullen fashion, and, without a 
word of greeting to Parker, climbed into the 
buckboard. 

“What’s the matter?” the man demanded 
in a jovial voice, having clucked his mule into 
renewed action. “Anything happened? You 
seem kind of quiet. Tired from your walk?” 

“No.” 

“How is your friend Milton? I heard him 
calling to you just before I left this morning. 
Nothing serious the matter, I trust? Is he 
all right?” 

Paul nodded. He would not give Par¬ 
ker the satisfaction of knowing about Fred’s 
recent accident. 

“My, you are unresponsive!” smiled the 
man. “Tell me, what brought you ’way over 
here? Been to Hatchet for something? You 
must have made a vast amount of speed. The 
last time I saw you, not more than five or six 
hours ago, you were about ten miles from here 
and headed in another direction. What 
caused you to alter your plans?” 

“You know well enough, Mr. Parker.” 


230 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“J know? What have I got to do with this 
sudden trip?” 

“What did you do with the plates?” Paul 
demanded, by way of answer. 

“What plates?” was the astonished reply. 

“Did you mail them?” 

“Did I what? What are you talking about, 
Jenkins?” 

Paul shrugged his shoulders. “Where are 
you going now?” he demanded. 

“Back to my camp where I belong,” Par¬ 
ker retorted. “Now tell me what you ’re 
hammering at? I can’t make head nor tail of 
it.” 

“Oh, the photographic plates!” snorted the 
exasperated boy. “You know perfectly well 
what I mean! You took them out of their 
case back there in the forest and carried them 
away.” 

If Paul had expected a denial to this charge 
he was disappointed. Parker turned to face 
him in amazement. “Oh, those!” he ex¬ 
claimed, as if suddenly enlightened. “Of 
course I did! They were mine, you know,” 
he added coolly. 


The sight of his enemy held him speechless 







PARKER AND PAUL 


23 1 

“Yours?” cried Paul, with so much force 
that his voice broke. “Yours? How can 
you possibly figure that out?” 

Parker uttered a delighted laugh as if this 
was the best joke he had ever heard. “Of 
course they were mine,” he crowed. “I saw 
those parrakeets first, before you ever came on 
the scene, and when you came along with the 
camera I merely permitted you to snap their 
pictures for me. The birds were mine by 
right of discovery, and, consequently, if pic¬ 
tures were taken without my permission, they 
also were mine, provided I could get them.” 

Paul gaped. He was too astounded at this 
amazing explanation to venture a reply. The 
unbelievable assurance of the man was so 
absurd that it left him well-nigh speechless. 
The parrakeets belonged to Parker by right 
of discovery! The plates were his because 
permission had not been asked for their tak¬ 
ing! The out-and-out crook! The crazy 
man! 

But all the boy could think to say for the 
moment was the hesitating question, “D-did 
you mail them?” 


232 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

Parker stumbled over his reply, and Paul 
thought to detect a note of falsity there, as if 
he sought to cover up a blunder in his answer. 

“Hum—of course I did.” 

Then the boy’s wrath escaped its bounds. 
Looking the man square in the eyes, he said in 
a low, concentrated voice: “You did, did 
you? You think you are going to pass those 
pictures off as your own, don’t you? Well, 
you ’re not! You come down here under the 
guise of a collector to secure evidence con¬ 
cerning the living presence of Carolina parra- 
keets, and what do you do? You turn loose 
on an egret rookery, nearly exterminate it, se¬ 
cure a small fortune in egret plumes, steal pho¬ 
tographs of the parrakeets you’re sent after, 
and then try to palm yourself off on the world 
as a naturalist. Pah, you make me sick!” 

“Here, hold hard there, boy!” sharply re¬ 
torted the man, dropping the reins and fac¬ 
ing his companion. “You use strong words. 
Now, tell me exactly what you are accusing 
me of?” 

Paul pulled himself together with a jerk. 
He realized that his had been an undiplo- 


PARKER AND PAUL 


233 


matic explosion, one which only served to 
arouse the man’s wrath and increase his 
enmity toward the boys. The present emer¬ 
gency called for coolness, a clear brain, the 
meeting of fire with fire. He forced a smile 
to his lips. 

“I’m afraid, Mr. Parker, I let myself go 
a little more than I should. But you ’ll have 
to admit that you have n’t treated us very 
well.” 

“Not well?” snapped the man. “How do 
you expect to be treated? Tell me what you 
mean about the egret plumes.” 

“You did shoot a few,” the boy muttered 
in a placating tone. 

“Of course I did! They’re for mounting 
in the museum.” 

Paul turned his face away to hide the sar¬ 
castic grin that curled the corners of his 
mouth. That was too much! Mounting in 
the museum! The plumes only, he supposed! 
The body of the bird and the remainder of 
its skin could rot in the marsh. 

“Huh-huh,” he grunted, not trusting him¬ 
self to speak. 


234 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“Yes, mounting in the museum,” Parker it¬ 
erated in a virtuous tone. “The people up 
there want a pair for a small group.” 

Fat gulped and—said nothing. 

“Did you see me shoot one?” the man cau¬ 
tiously inquired. 

The boy shook his head. “No, sir, I did n’t, 
but my chum thought he saw you with some 
plumes. Perhaps he was mistaken.” 

“Hum-mm—of course!” Parker chirped to 
his mule. “Get along there, Rastus.” Turn¬ 
ing to his companion, he said: “He was mis¬ 
taken. You ’re wrong, my lad, in your judg¬ 
ment of me.” 

Paul clenched his hands and set his teeth 
to prevent the retort that rushed to his lips. 
Nor did he relish Parker’s calling him “my 
lad.” 

“Perhaps I am mistaken,” he managed to 
say, choking back his resentment, but that was 
as far as he could go. “Will you please stop 
the mule, Mr. Parker; I’m going to get out 
here. Here, let me out!” 

“Of course, of course,” soothed the other. 
“Whoa, Rastus; we ’ll let this fiery youngster 


PARKER AND PAUL 


235 

go if he wishes.” Then earnestly to the boy, 
who already was half-way to the ground, “I 
assure you that there has been some mistake.” 

Once on the ground, Paul’s temper again 
flew its bounds. “The revenue department 
will have to be made to believe that,” he 
blurted. “Yes, and the ornithological soci¬ 
eties!” 

A mile had been covered during the con¬ 
versation. The sun had entirely lost itself be¬ 
hind the trees, and twilight shadows filled the 
forest. Even while the boy dismounted and 
stood beside the buckboard the man on the 
seat became a mere shadowy outline. Night 
was closing in fast. 

At Paul’s mention of revenue officers, Par¬ 
ker gave a start that he hastily concealed by a 
show of catching the reins that had fallen 
across the dashboard. Bending down, he 
said in a low voice: 

“I’m sorry I can’t seem to convince you 
that you ’re wrong. There’s no use stirring 
up trouble at Washington, for it will lead to 
nothing—so far as I’m concerned.” At this 
point he also seemed to lose control of himself 


236 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

and shouted: “As for the societies, do you 
think they would take the word of two boys 
against mine? Just try it and see! I’m go¬ 
ing to develop those pi—I have just for¬ 
warded the plates as my own, and they will 
accept them as such; don’t you forget it! Get 
up, Rastus.” 

“Just hold on a minute, Mr. Parker, before 
you go”; Paul spoke coolly. “There is some¬ 
thing you overlooked concerning that. If 
you want to know what it is, ask your friend 
Partridge up in New York. He might send 
you another telegram.” 

For an instant Parker was at a loss for 
words; then, with an inarticulate roar, he 
stood up in the buckboard. “You young ras¬ 
cal!” he cried. “Did you find that?” and, 
without preliminary warning, he sprang into 
the road. 

Paul was no match for Parker. His only 
chance was to run. Over fallen trunks and 
through brush he shot like an arrow. When 
the heavy breathing and mumbled curses of 
Parker became inaudible, Paul sank down on 
his hands and knees and began to scout back 



PARKER AND PAUL 


237 


toward the roadway to mislead his follower. 
However, Parker did not lose a great deal 
of time after he got completely off the track, 
and from behind a palmetto thicket, Paul 
saw him climb back into the buckboard and 
give his mule a nasty cut with the whip. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE EGRET PLUMES 

P AUL was not satisfied at the result of 
his encounter with Parker. He 
blamed himself for being too precipi¬ 
tate of speech, too prone to permit his feelings 
to gain the upper hand in dealing with a mat¬ 
ter that called for keen, cool, unhampered 
judgment. As matters now stood, the plates 
were gone beyond recovery, and Parker was 
riding rough-shod over Fred and himself, 
well on the road toward proving his claim of 
first finding the parrakeets. 

Upon second thought, Paul decided that 
after all there had been little more to be 
gained from the man aside from information 
concerning the fate of the plates. The plumes, 
however, must be destroyed, and he censured 
himself severely for not having discovered 
the location of his camp. The one chance 

left was to allow Parker to lead him to it 

238 


THE EGRET PLUMES 


239 


His mind made up, the boy, without further 
loss of precious time, hurried back up the 
road, and, at a jog-trot, started to overtake the 
buckboard. Although several minutes had 
elapsed since its disappearance, he felt confi¬ 
dent of coming within ear-shot before long. 
The road was deep with sand and Rastus, the 
mule, had seemed to prefer no other gait than 
a walk. 

Paul maintained his pace until, fifteen min¬ 
utes later, he was rewarded by hearing the 
creak of wheels up ahead. By that time he 
was almost breathless and was only too glad 
to slow down to the walk now necessary to 
keep the vehicle within hearing distance. Up 
to this point the road had continued within 
the pines, but soon the buckboard turned to 
the right, leaving the main thoroughfare to 
enter an expanse of half-inundated meadow. 

The boy thanked his lucky stars that he had 
caught up with it in time, and, striking out 
through the open, followed as close as he 
dared in its wake without being seen or heard. 
The night on the meadow was clearer. The 
stars, unhindered by the trees, lighted the 


2 4 o THE LAST PARRAKEET 

region and enabled him to keep the buckboard 
in sight a hundred yards away. 

It was a glorious evening. The heavens 
were a mass of dark purple closely studded 
with a blaze of diamonds unblotted by a single 
cloud. Scarce a breath of breeze stirred, but 
there was a refreshing coolness in the air. A 
chorus of peeping frogs swelled their throats 
and sang a continuous song of greeting to the 
wayfarers. Numerous small bats flitted their 
erratic courses over the grass on a hunt for in¬ 
sects. Night-herons gulped and chuckled, 
and alligators boomed and coughed from far- 
oflf swamps, while, from a near-by wooded is¬ 
land, came the plaintive, childlike cry of a 
wildcat. 

But Paul did not pause to listen to the eve¬ 
ning calls. His every sense was concentrated 
upon keeping that buckboard in sight. He 
gave little or no thought to the reptiles he 
might tread upon, to the mud-holes which in 
the semidarkness might engulf him, or to the 
possibility of getting lost. His mind was cen¬ 
tered on the enemy ahead, and he followed. 

An hour passed in this fashion. The land 


THE EGRET PLUMES 


241 


grew higher and dryer, though still open. 
The trail became better defined, and the boy 
lost all fear of losing it. Low palmettos took 
the place of the meadow sedges. A scatter¬ 
ing of trees appeared, and presently the vehi¬ 
cle drew to a halt. 

Paul listened to the man climb down and 
saw a light spring from the ground. Parker 
evidently had kicked aside the embers of an 
pld fire, and in the sudden glare the boy saw 
him toss on fresh wood. As the flames moun¬ 
ted they brought into relief the outline of a 
tent backed by a growth of low trees. The 
man busied himself with unhitching the 
mule, which he tied to a bush, and then re¬ 
turned to the fire. 

Now that the end of his quest was reached, 
Paul was overtaken by the first real pangs of 
'fatigue he had suffered. With an inward 
sigh of relief that the journey was over, he 
flung himself prostrate on the ground and re¬ 
laxed tired muscles. For eight hours, ever 
since the discovery of the theft of the plates, 
he had been continuously on his feet, and, dur¬ 
ing that period, had covered about eighteen 


242 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

miles through an overgrown country. It is 
no wonder, then, that his legs refused longer 
to bear his weight and that he lay, as weak as 
a baby, trying to regain his strength. 

For a full two hours he lay there, just out¬ 
side the circle of light, watching and planning 
and regaining vigor. Parker cooked his 
supper in a frying-pan, and, after devouring 
it, sat beside the fire with a pipe in his 
mouth. He appeared to be deep in thought 
and several times grunted audibly to himself. 
Once he chuckled aloud as some thought 
struck him, and again he burst into a deep 
laugh. Then, as the night was drawing on, 
he piled two great logs on the fire and entered 
the tent. 

Once inside the shelter, Paul saw him light 
a candle and thereafter was content to watch 
the dark silhouette against the canvas as it 
prepared for the night. As these prepara¬ 
tions consisted merely of unrolling a blanket, 
the silhouette disappeared when Parker blew 
out the candle. 

“Humph,” grunted the boy, disappointed 
at the turn developments had taken. “I was 


THE EGRET PLUMES 


243 


hoping he would give me some indication of 
where the plumes are hid before he turned in. 
I guess it’s up to me now to locate them.” 

Giving Parker another hour in which to 
enter a sound sleep and to allow the fire, 
which had blazed up on the addition of the 
fresh logs, to burn low, the boy rose stiffly 
from the ground and advanced with caution 
toward the camp. Stealthily as any puma, 
he edged toward the tent. At the door he 
paused to listen and, reassured by the deep, 
even breathing within, turned toward the 
fire. 

Paul was careful not to place himself be¬ 
tween the fire and the tent lest the sudden 
shutting off of the faint glare awaken its in¬ 
mate. Keeping well to one side, he made a 
careful survey of his surroundings. Parker’s 
gun leaned against the tent; a wooden case of 
canned food lay not far from the fire; and 
near it were several dirty sacks and a dis¬ 
carded horse-blanket. Save for an ax that 
stood driven into the head of a log, and a few 
cooking-utensils, this appeared to be the ex¬ 
tent of the camp outfit. 


244 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

The explorer crept over to the sacks and 
felt them over one by one. All were empty, 
and the horse-blanket covered nothing but 
bare soil. The plumes were not con¬ 
cealed there, nor, so far as he could ascertain, 
were they anywhere around the camp. With¬ 
out a doubt Parker had taken the trouble to 
conceal them within the tent, lest some unwel¬ 
come prowler discover them in the afternoon 
during his absence. 

Disheartened, the searcher moved over to 
the buckboard, and felt beneath the seat. The 
plumes were not there. They must be in the 
tent—and so was Parker. What chance was 
there of securing them with that man sleep¬ 
ing there? It was one thing to steal into the 
camp and search while its owner was asleep, 
and another to crawl into that tent and extract 
the plumes virtually from beneath the man’s 
head. It was an impossibility; but he must 
have those feathers. 

The boy drew out of the lessening circle of 
light and set his wits to work. Parker must 
be got out of there until he, Paul, could make 
a thorough search of the entire place. But 


THE EGRET PLUMES 


245 

how was this to be accomplished? That was 
the question. 

Suddenly a plan came to him. The mule, 
Rastus! If he possibly could inveigle him 
into making a clatter of some kind that would 
call the man from the tent for a few minutes, 
that would serve the purpose. But how could 
this ruse be worked with success? Rastus 
was old and lazy and over-gentle. It would 
require a deal of coaxing to arouse him to the 
proper pitch of frenzy. 

The idea having taken root, however, the 
plan rapidly evolved. The mule was unteth¬ 
ered from its log and stealthily led to the 
rickety old buckboard. A stout bush a few 
feet to one side served as a tie-post, to which 
Rastus was securely made fast. Paul then 
rolled the light vehicle sufficiently close to 
brush against the mule’s hind quarters, and 
stood off to view his handiwork. He was now 
prepared to proceed with the noisy part. 

“Steady on there, old mule,” he whispered 
as Rastus sidled away from the wagon that 
crowded upon him. “Steady there, I say. 
You ’re goin’ to have some fun in a minute.” 


246 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

The beast flicked its long, preposterous ears 
and blinked quizzically at him in the dark¬ 
ness, doubtless inquiring in its own language, 
“What’s up?” 

Paul left him not long in doubt. Rastus 
felt a hand placed on his flank and, despite 
himself, was pushed against the buckboard. 
This, he thought, was a funny proceeding, and 
strove to turn the other way, but the vehicle 
barred progress. The hand pushed harder. 
Rastus’s hind quarters rested against a wheel, 
whose sharp tire dented his flesh. The sensa¬ 
tion was anything but pleasant, and the mule 
attempted to back away, but the inexorable 
hand held him in place. Rastus began to 
grow angry. This was not fair treatment to 
a lone, inoffensive mule. Who was this per¬ 
son who persisted in pushing him against the 
wagon, and, anyway, what was the wagon do¬ 
ing there? Both the person and the wagon 
must be taught their proper places. 

Rastus lunged at Paul with his off hind leg, 
missed him, and crashed into the spokes of the 
wheel. That was too much even for a mild 
mule to stand. Recovering himself, he 


THE EGRET PLUMES 


247 


gathered his limbs beneath him and let drive 
full force at the innocent buckboard. The 
wheel caved, and the vehicle slipped over on 
its side square beneath those pounding hoofs; 
for Rastus, now fully aroused, was having 
more fun than he had had since he was a colt. 
The sound of combat was sufficient to arouse 
a deaf-and-dumb asylum, let alone a sleeping 
man less than thirty yards away. As for Paul, 
he disappeared into the darkness. 

Parker awoke, as might be expected, with 
a start, and sprang to the door of his tent. 
For a few moments he could not gage the ex¬ 
act source of the clatter beyond sighting an ill- 
defined blur at the spot where the buckboard 
had been. But a joyful bray soon acquainted 
him with the root of the matter, and, uttering 
an exclamation of annoyance, he hastened 
over to extricate the mule. 

Now was Paul’s chance. No sooner had 
the man turned his back on the tent than the 
boy slipped in. Although it was quite dark 
in there, he had small difficulty in laying 
hands on what he sought. The plumes were 
encased in long paper packages and heaped 


248 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

up in a corner of the tent. There were a 
dozen packages, and, from their bulky feel¬ 
ing, Paul knew that they must each contain 
the feathers of several birds. 

With the packages tucked under his 
arm and a feeling that amounted to joy in his 
heart, the boy made a hurried exit, and his 
stout figure was blotted out by the night. 


CHAPTER XXII 


ADVENTURE WITH A WOLF 

HORTLY after sunrise Fred Milton 
was surprised by a shout close at hand. 
He looked up from the labor in which 
he was engrossed to see his chum approaching 
at a slow walk. With an answering shout, he 
hobbled down the slope to greet Paul. 

“What luck?” he eagerly inquired, scan¬ 
ning the other with anxious eyes. “Did you 
get them?” 

The other, his face pale and drawn with 
fatigue, shook his head, and, moving to the 
smoldering fire, deposited beside it several 
large packages wrapped with paper and one 
of smaller dimensions. 

“Those ’re for the fire,” he growled, and 
then, dropping beside the packages and 
stretching out on the welcome pine-needles, he 
declared in a tired, hopeless voice as if his 

249 



250 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

life had been about finished: “He beat us. 
The plates were mailed before I caught him. 
Drove to town to do it, and I met him on the 
way back.” 

At this piece of bad news Fred uttered a 
disconsolate groan and sat down beside Paul. 
“Tell me about it; is there no chance in the 
world?” he commanded soberly. 

“Not a particle! He sent them up to his 
museum, and the pictures will be produced in 
a few days before the U. O. S.; but in spite 
of that”—Paul smiled a wry smile—“Parker 
did n’t pass what you might call a restful eve¬ 
ning.” 

He then went on to detail his experiences 
and the success that had followed his ruse 
with the mule. “I used plenty of speed in 
getting away from his camp, you can believe 
me. After walking for half an hour I lay me 
down on a stretch of dry sand and tried 
to catch a few winks, knowing that he 
could n’t find me at night, but it was no use; 
there were too many mosquitos and other in¬ 
sects around. At the first hint of dawn I was 
up, and, once I found my bearings, it did n’t 



ADVENTURE WITH A WOLF 251 

take long to locate you. Gemini, I’m 
tired!” 

The blow that had fallen was not entirely 
unexpected by Fred. He had hoped against 
hope that the plates might be recovered, but 
his inborn common sense had told him that 
the chances were ten to one against such an 
occurrence. An incident had happened dur¬ 
ing Paul’s absence which, to him as a natural¬ 
ist, had temporarily placed the possession of 
the plates in a position of insignificance. 
Therefore, instead of taking the blow hard, 
he merely commented on the exhausted con¬ 
dition of his chum. 

“I should think you would be tired! Walk¬ 
ing all yesterday afternoon and part of the 
night, and no sleep on top of that! At any 
rate, Fat, you did what you could toward get¬ 
ting the plates, and Red Whiskers won’t be 
able to put the plumes on the market. We ’ll 
have to rest satisfied that we’ve balked at least 
one of his games. What are you going to do 
now?” 

“I dunno; I want to sleep. How is the 
foot?” 


252 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

“Fine! Swelling’s gone down, and I can 
walk on it with little trouble.” 

“That’s great,” the other murmured in a 
drowsy voice. “It’s rotten about the plates, 
but I’m afraid he’s got us beat. What was 
that thing you were fooling with when I came 
up?” 

Fred stood up, a happy grin on his face, and 
moved off a few yards. He dragged back to 
the fire the half-skinned body of a large, dark¬ 
haired animal to a position where Paul would 
see it without rising. The stout boy studied 
it dreamily and, with a show of interest, 
turned to his friend. 

“What is it?” he demanded with an 
effort. 

Fred swelled his chest and answered in the 
prideful tone of a successful collector. 

“It’s a Florida wolf! There aren’t many 
of them left nowadays, let me tell you; and 
for rarity they ’re equal to the panther! Great 
day, Fat, if we have lost out on the parrakeets, 
we’ve managed to secure two animals the 
record of whose presence is almost as valuable 
to naturalists as the parrakeets! Our trip to 


ADVENTURE WITH A WOLF 253 

the Everglades has n’t been barren, by a long 
shot!” 

“Whew!” breathed Paul, showing distinct 
signs of revival; “a Florida wolf! Whoever 
would have thought it? And isn’t he a 
beaut? Here, let’s see him!” 

The animal was similar in shape to the ordi¬ 
nary western or gray wolf, though perhaps 
a trifle smaller. It had the same savage jaw 
and sly canine expression, which even death 
could not eradicate. Its hair, instead of be¬ 
ing gray like that of the timber wolf, was dark 
almost to blackness, and served to give it its 
common name of black wolf. 

“It’s not so wonderful, after all, that they 
should be found here,” Fred admitted, while 
the other blinked at the creature in semi- 
somnolent wonder. “They ’re probably a 
species distinct from the gray wolf that used 
to inhabit all our Western forests. The 
black wolves are known still to exist—rather 
sparsely, though—here in the Everglades. 
The State, I think, still has a bounty on their 
scalps.” 

Paul was striving hard to keep his eyes 



254 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

open and his dazed interest up. “But how 
did you happen to run across this chap?” he 
inquired. 

Fred vented a soft chuckle. “I didn’t,” 
he said. “It ran across me. Want to hear 
about it?” At a sleepy nod from the other 
he continued: “Well, after you left I built 
a fire and cooked the rabbit—which, by the 
way, was n’t much good; and then, as it was 
growing dark, I lay down by the fire. There 
was n’t anything else to do, so I tried to go to 
sleep, but, as you know yourself, the mosquitos 
were out in full force and I could n’t catch a 
wink. Crawling over to the smoke, however, 
helped a bit, and presently I fell into a doze.” 

“Just like me now,” murmured Paul, his 
head nodding forward on his chest. 

“Here, you sleepy-head,” the other grinned, 
“keep awake until you hear the rest of my 
story. It must have been about midnight, 
judging from the way the fire had died down, 
when the most blood-curdling sound I have 
ever heard aroused me. It was like one of 
those siren whistles which blow the noon-hour 
on the Hudson, only deeper and more quaver- 


ADVENTURE WITH A WOLF 255 

ing, and it sure did cause my hair to stand up. 
For a few moments I sat there like a ninny, 
afraid to move a finger, half sure that it had 
been a dream and yet afraid that the slight¬ 
est move would make it a reality. 

“And a reality it was. The wail was re¬ 
peated; there could be no doubt of its reality, 
let me state! I grabbed up my gun and just 
sat there, shaking all over. For a long time 
dead silence followed, and then my ears 
caught a rustle in the grass a few yards off. 
It was pretty dark in these woods, and I could 
see nothing. 

“Reaching out a hand, I tossed some wood 
on the fire and soon had the satisfaction of a 
bright blaze. And then it was that I discov¬ 
ered a pair of large, blue-green eyes staring 
out of the night. Panther, I thought, and 
wondered if they ever attacked human beings. 
I shoved a couple of buck-shot cartridges into 
the gun and sat there, awaiting developments. 
There was nothing else to do. I could n’t 
run, and it would n’t have done me any good 
if I could. 

“After a while I got to thinking. If that 


256 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

howl came from a panther it was different 
from any cat howl I had ever heard. You 
remember, you and I have heard the cry of 
a jaguar more than once in our lives, and as 
the Florida panther is pretty close akin to 
that beast, I could n’t reconcile the two. No, 
I decided, it could n’t be a panther. Then 
what was it? I could n’t for the life of me 
think. I’d forgotten all about there being a 
few wolves down here. 

“Satisfied that it was n’t a cat of any kind, 
I thought it might be a bear, but I had enough 
sense to know that they have n’t a voice like 
that. I was at a loss, and my curiosity com¬ 
menced to get the upper hand. Tt’s some 
sort of animal,’ I said to myself, ‘and with 
buck-shot at twenty yards, I can’t possibly 
miss. So here goes.’ 

“With that I pointed my old blunderbuss 
and fired. I had got myself so worked up 
that I was bound to see what the creature was. 
Well, I saw! 

“The wolf, as I discovered it was a moment 
later, uttered a piercing yelp and bounded 
squarely at the blaze. The beast was dead 


ADVENTURE WITH A WOLF 257 

and that was its death-spring, but I did n’t 
know that. I fell back with a yell and, by 
mistake, pulled the other trigger, causing the 
gun to go off in the air. 

“It was all over, I thought, just like you 
did with the panther, and, grabbing the gun 
by the barrel, I sat up and prepared to put 
up what fight I could. But the wolf lay dead 
ten feet away, with a buck-shot square between 
the eyes. 

“When I had made sure that it was—” 

Fred ceased talking and looked at his com¬ 
panion. Paul was fast asleep. He had lis¬ 
tened dazedly part way through the discourse, 
fighting to stay awake, but it was of no use. 
Nature at last had her way, and he slumbered 
ere half the story was done. 

“Poor old chap,” Fred murmured, “he’s 
about used up. He put in an awful night and 
deserves all the sleep he can get. I won’t 
bother him any more.” 

As there was no reason for them to return 
immediately to camp, Fred decided to let his 
chum sleep until noon. In the mean time he 
hobbled off in search of food, for so hasty had 


258 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

been their departure yesterday that this item 
had been overlooked. An hour later he was 
back, seated beside the fire, picking the feath¬ 
ers from the body of a large wild turkey- 
gobbler. 

“It was a shame to do it,” he apologized 
to himself, tossing a handful of feathers into 
the fire. “At this time of year, during the 
breeding-season, it’s a shame to shoot a 
turkey; but we’ve got to eat. I was careful 
to get a gobbler and not a hen, which might 
have chicks.” 

Having plucked the bird clean, he trans¬ 
fixed it with a stout green stick and began to 
broil it over the flames. As the delicious 
aroma of cooking turkey spread over the little 
knoll, Paul, from his bed of needles, stirred 
uneasily, and Fred saw an unconscious smile 
of anticipation cross his face and his jaws 
work slowly as if in contemplation of the feast. 
But the fat boy continued to sleep. 

Satisfied that the bird was properly cook¬ 
ing, Fred turned his attention to the packages 
brought by his chum. He picked up one and 
thoughtfully turned it over in his hands. 


ADVENTURE WITH A WOLF 259 

Opening it, he examined its contents. It con¬ 
tained a dozen tufts of plumes, snow-white 
and filmy lace, the spoils from the backs of 
half that number of birds. And each tuft con¬ 
tained sufficient feathers to make more than 
one aigret for feminine adornment, any one 
of which would be worth many dollars. 

He tossed the paper and its contents into 
the fire with an exclamation of disgust, and 
watched one of nature’s most gorgeous cre¬ 
ations shrivel and crumple and blacken into 
ashes. Though it took all his fortitude to 
destroy such things of beauty, yet must they 
all go the same way as these, lest by their very 
presence in the world of fashion they arouse 
a cry for more, and thus aid further in the 
extermination of the wonderful creatures that 
bear them. 

Fred picked up a second package and, with¬ 
out looking to see what it contained, threw it 
after the first. A third followed, and he held 
in his hands the one of smaller size. A feel¬ 
ing of curiosity caused him to open this; its 
very size and superior weight showed that it 
could not contain plumes, and, as his eyes fell 


26 o the last parrakeet 


upon what was wrapped within, he uttered a 
gasp of surprise and awkwardly dropped it 
upon the ground. 

With trembling fingers he picked up the 
package and, turning to his chum, roughly 
shook him. “Wake up, Fat!” he called in a 
voice ringing with excitement. “Come, wake 
up!” 

Paul grunted and rolled over. 

“Here, come on!” Fred shouted, shaking 
the stout lad harder. 

“Aw, what’s the matter?” grumbled the 
latter, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Can’t 
you let a fellow sleep without bothering him 
all the time?” 

“I’ve found something!” 

“I don’t care if you’ve found a million dol¬ 
lars. I’m goin’ to sleep.” 

“No, you ’re not. Guess what I’ve found!” 

“I don’t care.” 

“Yes, you do! One of those packages you 
brought contained—what do you think?” 

Paul groaned and sleepily muttered: “I 
tell you I don't care. Now, let me sleep.” 

“It contains the plates!” Fred shouted. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


RETURN TO CAMP 

I T’s the plates!” 

“What’s that you say?” 

Paul, whose head until that moment 
had been drooping with fatigue, straightened 
up with a start. The words of his chum 
proved as effective as a dash of cold water in 
the face. Fred, in triumph, albeit he visibly 
trembled with emotion, handed over the 
package. 

“Here, look for yourself,” he said in a voice 
that he tried to hold steady. 

Paul, his eyes rivaling saucers in size, 
stared in half-dazed wonderment at the little 
wooden cases with their black, opaque slides, 
which lay in his hands. They were the plate- 
holders that had held the lost plates. To make 
certain that the plates still reposed inside, he 
shook each one gently in turn. 

261 



262 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


“Well, I ’ll be switched!” came in a fervent 
murmur from his lips, and that was all he 
could say, so great was his joy. 

Presently, collecting his scattered wits, he 
cried, “They are the plates, Skinny!” just as 
if the other had not known it! “To think I 
lugged them around all last night and did n’t 
know it! Old Red Whiskers did n’t send 
them away after all.” 

“Of course he did n’t,” Fred nodded with a 
happy laugh. “He was fooling you all the 
time! If any one should ask me, I’d say that 
he has lost out good and proper.” 

“He sure has!” Paul agreed enthusiasti¬ 
cally. “Plumes, parrakeet skin stolen in New 
York, and plates! Wow, he’s out of luck! 
We should worry now!” 

Fred chuckled happily. “You’ve said it, 
Fat. The next thing to do is to get back to 
camp and meet Jeff. Then it will be good-by 
to Red Whiskers until we meet in New York.” 

“Can you make it with your lame foot?” 

“Surest thing you know. Foot’s all right 
now. It won’t be much trouble to do the few 
miles back to camp. Let’s eat and then 


RETURN TO CAMP 263 

mosey on back. We want to be there when 
Jeff arrives.” 

Although it still lacked several hours to 
noon, Paul no longer felt the need of sleep. 
He led a devastating attack on the turkey, and, 
in an extraordinarily few minutes, little other 
than bones remained of t;he once enormous 
fowl. Then, having consigned the remaining 
aigrets to the flames, they set out for the is¬ 
land camp on the slough. 

As the last feather crinkled and faded in the 
fire, Fat turned to his companion with a tri¬ 
umphant smile. “There,” he said; “that 
helps some. Red must be ravin’ for his 
plumes just about now. Wish he would rave 
himself into a lunatic asylum.” 

Neither boy can be blamed for laughing at 
this sally, for they had suffered much from 
the wiles of their rival, and the man deserved 
more than the mere loss of his plumes. 

“But what gets me,” said Fred, as they 
started off into the forest, “is why he did rit 
mail the plates. He said he did, and evi¬ 
dently it was in his mind.” 

Paul shrugged his shoulders. “I’m begin- 


264 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

ning to believe he did n’t think of it at all until 
I mentioned it on the road. When I spoke 
about mailing them he gave a kind of start as 
if he’d forgotten something and later made a 
break about developing ’em, and then cut him¬ 
self off short. I have a hunch that he wants 
one of the birds itself as evidence, and 
would n’t rely wholly upon the plates.” 

“And perhaps he’s right,” was the moody 
retort. Vague misgivings were beginning to 
cloud Fred’s mind. “How do we know he 
has n’t drawn out the slides from the holders 
and exposed the plates to the light?” 

“Gummy!” grunted Fat, and, halting in his 
tracks, faced his chum. “I never thought of 
that, Skinny! I bet that’s just what he did 
do! If those plates are no good, you and I 
are just where we started from, with him a 
little in the lead. He has sense enough to 
know that we could claim the negatives in 
New York and make it pretty hot for him to 
prove that they were his. That’s just what 
he’s done! . . . No, I don’t believe it is! 
Don’t forget the break he made about de¬ 
veloping ’em.” 


RETURN TO CAMP 265 

“I don’t,” was the grim retort, “but he ’s 
liable to say ’most anything. However, we ’ll 
know to-night when we can get back to the 
ranch. That’s the first thing we’ve got to do, 
develop ’em ourselves.” 

“But,” wailed Fat, “we can’t go back to the 
ranch with that horrible possibility hangin’ 
over us! It will give him a whole day’s start, 
and he knows where the birds feed! Gemini, 
Skinny, you’ve taken all the joy out of life!” 

“I’m afraid I have,” the other acknowl¬ 
edged with a crooked smile. “Give me your 
idea of what we should do.” 

Paul mournfully shook his head. “We’d 
better stay here in the Glades until we can 
take more pictures, just to make certain. 
We ’ll get Jeff to remain over until to-morrow, 
and perhaps we ’ll be able to go back with him 
then. I’m beginning to lose faith in photo¬ 
graphs, Skinny. Suppose that, even if Par¬ 
ker did n’t expose ’em, the plates were no 
good? Suppose the birds don’t show up in 
the picture? I’m losing my nerve, I tell you. 
Let’s shoot a parrakeet and be done with it; 
there are plenty of them.” 


266 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

Fred pondered long on the suggestion be¬ 
fore replying. A fresh parrakeet skin would 
entirely solve the difficulty. The feeding- 
tree of the birds was only a few miles distant. 

“I ’d been thinking about it,” he acknowl¬ 
edged, “but, Fat, by your own count there 
were only five; those may be all that are left 
in the world. No, let’s stick to the camera. 
Besides, the plates in these holders may be 
good. We may be able to secure others this 
afternoon, and to-night we can develop the 
whole lot in the tent. Let’s leave the shoot¬ 
ing as a last resort.” 

“Then let’s hurry back to camp,” cried 
Paul. “Let’s get the camera. Old Whis¬ 
kers is probably standin’ under the feeding- 
tree right now.” 

Urged by the necessity of reaching camp 
with the least possible delay, the two young 
collectors quickened their steps. In due 
course the egret rookery was reached, and 
later they crossed the meadow of the herons. 
Forcing a way over the brush-covered island 
that formed the northern boundary, they 
hurried to the spot where the canoe had been 


RETURN TO CAMP 


267 

left. The little vessel lay hidden in the tall 
grass as they had last seen it, and a moment 
later, paddle in hand, they drove the bow 
through the water-weeds which choked the 
slough. 

As the bottom of the canoe grated on the 
sand that formed a portion of the shore of 
the farther island, the ears of its occupants 
caught the far-off stutter of a motor. It could 
only come from Jeff, returning to keep his 
appointment, but the car was still a full mile 
distant and coming slowly. 

“He’s a little ahead of time,” Paul declared, 
climbing out of the canoe and steadying it for 
his companion. “I did n’t think he’d make 
it until this afternoon, and I don’t believe it’s 
twelve yet. I’m glad he’s come, though.” 

They hastened toward the live-oak under 
which stood the tent. 

“We’ll get the fire going,” said Fred, 
“and give him a snack to eat when he arrives. 
As for myself, after that turkey you and I con¬ 
sumed, I’m not hungry.” 

“Neither am I,” Paul agreed. “You go 
ahead with the fire while I load the—” He 


268 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


stopped short and, with a groan as of pain, 
turned to his companion. “By jinks, Skinny, 
we are dumbheads!” 

“What’s the matter now?” 

For answer Paul silently pointed to the 
plate-holders that he held in his hand. There 
were six in all, their entire stock. 

“What’s the trouble?” asked Fred curi¬ 
ously. 

“We ’re ninnies; that’s all! We cant load 
these plate-holders in daylight!” 

“Oh.” 

Fred subsided with a grunt and weakly 
seated himself on a log that stood by the cold 
embers of the dead fire. This was the limit! 
Such a thought had never entered his head. 

“Neither did it mine,” bitterly admitted 
Paul. “We are candidates for the foolish 
club; that’s what we are! I should n’t have 
used up all those holders yesterday. If there 
was only some way of making a dark-room! 
But there’s nothing, Skinny, nothing that will 
do. We ’ll have to wait until to-night. A 
whole afternoon wasted! Oh, heck, why 
did n’t we bring films?” 


RETURN TO CAMP 269 

Muttering in self-disgust, Fat entered the 
tent where Fred could hear him rummaging 
around. Presently he appeared with a per¬ 
plexed look on his countenance. 

“What did we do with the camera?” he 
asked. “Didn’t we leave it here?” 

“Sure; put it there myself.” 

“Well, it’s not in here now.” 

With an expression of annoyance, Fred 
rose from his log and joined his chum. “I 
left it on my blanket,” he declared. “No 
one could have taken it; it must be there.” 

But a thorough search of all possible hid¬ 
ing-places failed to reveal the missing camera. 
They delved into everything, the hammocks, 
the blankets, the duffle-bags, and the boxes, 
but there was no sign of the black case. It 
had vanished as if into thin air. 

“Parker again,” muttered Paul, as they 
stepped outside the tent. 

The other boy nodded. “It could n’t have 
been the bear we saw here a couple of days 
ago,” he agreed, “so it must have been Red 
Whiskers or some other man.” Stooping 
down, he picked up a small fragment of wood, 


270 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

to one side of which adhered a torn strip of 
black imitation leather. “And,” he contin¬ 
ued grimly, handing the fragment to Paul, 
“whoever took it made an end to it.” The 
splinter had at one time formed a portion of 
the back of the camera. 

“Aw, what’s the use?” groaned poor Fat, 
having recognized the fragment. “We ’re 
just plumb wrecked, Skinny. Even if we had 
the camera, we could n’t use it. I have n’t a 
doubt now that the plates in the holders are 
all light-struck; though I don’t see why Par¬ 
ker did n’t just take the camera with him in¬ 
stead of smashin’ it up.” 

“I don’t either,” condoled the other, “but 
we Ve still our guns, Fat, and we know where 
the birds feed.” 

“Right you are,” Fat replied with a sudden 
return of confidence. “And, what’s more, 
the plates may not really be light-struck. 
Fine! As soon as Jeff arrives we’ll start 
right out to collect a single one out of that 
flock. I wonder what’s keeping him? He 
ought to have been here by this time.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


A SUDDEN APPEARANCE 

J EFF DOWN was making hard weather 
of it in his jitney car. He had left one 
of the nearer boundary-houses shortly 
after sunrise, with the intention of reaching 
the camp before noon, but one accident fol¬ 
lowed another: a blow-out, a mud-hole, a 
broken spring, and now, when he was hardly 
half a mile from his destination, another mud- 
hole. Here it was necessary to cut several 
armfuls of palmetto-leaves to make a bed in 
the mud on which the rear wheels of the truck 
would catch. All this took time. 

Back at camp the boys had partly recovered 
from their rage at the destruction of the cam¬ 
era. They rebuilt the fire and waited with 
impatience for the arrival of Jeff. 

“He ought to have been here long ago,” 
Paul repeated for the dozenth time. “By the 

sound of the motor when we first stepped out 

271 


272 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

of the canoe he ought to have arrived fifteen 
minutes ago.” 

“Probably had to make a detour-,” Fred 
suggested. “You can’t hear it now.” 

“Well, if he does n’t show up in five min¬ 
utes more, I move we start after the parra- 
keets. We can leave a note tellin’ him 
what’s the matter. There’s not a—” 

He was interrupted by Fred, who held up 
his hand and turned his head in an attitude 
of listening. “Here he is now!” he cried. 
“Some one’s coming through the brush; hear 
him?” 

Both jumped up and hastened to the edge 
of the bushes that lined the clearing. They 
could hear the crackle of dried twigs trampled 
underfoot and the rip of briers rubbing 
against garments. The man evidently was in 
a hurry. 

“Wonder why he did n’t drive the car up 
to the island as he did the other day?” said 
Paul. “Ho-ho, Jeff, here we are!” 

The man in the bushes hastened toward the 
sound of the call, and a moment later stood 
beside them. It was Parker. 



A SUDDEN APPEARANCE 273 

“M-Mister Parker!” stammered Paul, 
gaping at the new-comer in amazement. 
“W-where did—” 

But Parker had no time to answer questions. 
The boys were greeted with an angry stare, 
and, without a word, the man strode toward 
the fire. The others followed silently behind, 
too overcome by the unexpectedness of his 
arrival to venture a further remark. 

Arriving in front of the tent, Parker turned 
and, with no preliminary words, snapped: 

“Where are my plumes?” 

Fred and Paul could see that his physical 
attitude toward them had undergone an 
alteration. Gone was the oily manner, the 
unctuous bearing, the stealthy smile. The 
man stood forth in his true light, an overbear¬ 
ing, domineering bully. His pale gray eyes 
held a steely gleam that hitherto had been 
lacking, and his short red beard bristled like 
the hair on the back of an Irish terrier at the 
scent of battle. In his hands he carried a 
shot-gun. 

“What did you do with the plumes?” he de¬ 
manded fiercely, fixing Paul with his eyes. 


274 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

Fat stared at him, dumb and uncomfortable. 
He shifted uneasily. The suddenness of the 
attack found him wholly unprepared. 

“The plumes, I say?” Parker again de¬ 
manded. 

“W-what p-plumes?” stammered the boy, 
striving to speak in a tone of injured inno¬ 
cence, but with poor success. “What plumes 
do you mean?” 

“You don’t have to be told! The plumes 
you stole last night! Where are they, in the 
tent?” 

Without so much as “by your leave” he 
opened the flap and stepped inside. Immedi¬ 
ately there followed through the opening a 
shower of blankets, boxes, bags, and every¬ 
thing that was there. Parker’s search, if 
ruthless, was thorough. 

For a moment after the man disappeared 
within the tent the lads stared after him with 
speechless indignation. The high-handed 
method which their enemy pursued, the air 
of proprietorship he assumed over their per¬ 
sonal belongings, was galling to say the least, 


A SUDDEN APPEARANCE 275 

and most irritating. The nerve of the manl 
His unmitigated offensiveness! And they 
were but two boys against his man’s strength; 
in other words, well-nigh helpless. 

“Here, Mr. Parker,” Fred demurred 
weakly, “those are our things. Be careful of 
them.” 

“Tell me where the plumes are then,” an¬ 
swered the rough voice from beneath the can¬ 
vas. “Hel-lo, what have we here?” 

Parker emerged carrying the half-dozen 
plate-holders, which had been left there by 
the boys. A triumphant look lighted his 
ugly face, and a malicious grin played on the 
bewhiskered lips. He stepped carelessly into 
the open and faced them. 

“So you have these,” he crowed, “and don’t 
know anything about the plumes? Now 
watch me do a little trick.” 

With a flirt of the hand he drew the slides 
from one of the holders and permitted two 
of the yellow, undeveloped plates to drop 
out and shatter upon the ground. At this 
sight, the final wrecking of their hopes, Fred 


276 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

and Paul sprang forward, calling desperately 
to him not to expose any more. Parker, who 
had never lost the grip on his gun, waved 
them back with the weapon. 

“Shall I spoil the rest just as I wrecked 
your camera?” he demanded in a harsh tone, 
“or will you tell me what you did with my 
property?” 

The lads, held back by the gun, paused, and 
Paul, in a sober voice, replied, “We have n’t 
got your plumes—now.” 

“What do you mean—now? You don’t 
deny that you stole them?” 

“Of course not,” retorted the stout lad; how 
he wished that their guns were not lying 
twenty feet off against the trunk of the live- 
oak! But, even had the weapons been in 
their hands, neither boy would have used 
them in a quarrel like this. Both knew the 
plates were not worth a human life; and Par¬ 
ker knew that they knew it! 

“Of course not,” repeated Paul. “I took 
them last night; but you had already taken 
the plates from us.” 

“What if I did?” snorted the man. “You 


A SUDDEN APPEARANCE 277 

got the plates back and my plumes with them. 
Now tell me what’s become of the feathers, 
or I ’ll open the rest of the holders.” 

He made a motion as if to carry out the 
threat, and Paul again started forward, his 
hands outstretched. 

“Here, hold on!” he cried. “I ’ll tell you 
all about it. They ’re—” 

But Fred interposed at this juncture, and 
sharply. “Will you promise to give us back 
the plates if we do?” he demanded. His ac¬ 
tive brain had been busy thinking a way out 
of the dilemma, and now the solution was 
close upon him. His straining ears had 
caught the faint purr of an approaching auto¬ 
mobile. If they could hold Parker in play 
until Jeff arrived, the situation would be re¬ 
versed. 

At a nod from their enemy, he continued 
to speak, making a sign to Paul to keep quiet. 

“As my friend says, they ’re out of our 
possession now, but that does n’t say that we 
can’t lay hands on them. You don’t think 
we’d keep them around camp where they 
might be discovered by some one who would 


278 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

inform the authorities that we have them, do 
you?” 

A sneer crossed Parker’s face at the mention 
of the authorities, but he said nothing and lis¬ 
tened as Fred went on: “Yes, you can laugh 
if you wish, but we can’t afford to. Such a 
collection of feathers would be hard to ex¬ 
plain away to any one who happened to see 
them. We ’re not anxious to get into trouble 
that way. Our reputations as naturalists are 
at stake, and if—” 

Fred, who had been talking at random in 
order to use up time, paused to take breath. 
The stutter of the motor could now be heard 
by all with distinctness, and Parker began to 
show signs of uneasiness. 

“Got the car out of the mud, I’m afraid,” 
he muttered to himself, and then aloud, “Cut 
out all the missionary talk and show me where 
the plumes are hidden!” 

“Put the plates on the ground, then, and 
follow me,” commanded Fred, with alacrity. 

“I ’ll keep them, thanks,” was the grim re¬ 
sponse, “and you had better hurry up if you 


A SUDDEN APPEARANCE 279 

know what’s good for you. Here, Jenkins, 
you come along, too,” he added, as Paul made 
a motion to draw back in the direction of the 
approaching car. 

Because the man still held the plate-holders 
and thereby the whip-handle, there was noth¬ 
ing for Fat to do but obey. Fred led the way 
past the fire toward a clump of palmettos, 
about twenty yards off, near the spot where 
Jeff had stopped the truck on the day of their 
arrival. They could hear a car, sputtering 
angrily at the deadfalls and the thickets that 
beset its passage and slowed its progress, not 
a quarter of a mile away. 

“Hurry up!” shouted Parker in an agi¬ 
tated voice. Apprised by Paul that the 
creek led past their camp, he had man¬ 
aged to hack a passage through the head of 
the fallen tree that had barred the boy’s 
progress on the previous day, and without 
difficulty had located the camp in his boat be¬ 
fore their arrival. But from the spot where 
Fred now had led him it would take at least 
two minutes to reach the boat and be free of 


280 the last parrakeet 


the camp; and the car he had seen mired in a 
far-off meadow might be upon him at any 
instant. 

“Get a move on you!” he cried. “I Ve got 
to be getting away from here. If you don’t 
locate the plumes in thirty seconds, smash go 
your plates!” 

Fred increased his pace, and, at the 
edge of the palmettos, casting a meaning 
glance at his chum, he turned to face the 
bully. This was their only chance. Jeff 
would be with them in five minutes, and they 
must hold Parker long enough to regain 
possession of the holders. That was their 
only objective. The man himself meant noth¬ 
ing to them. 

“Mr. Parker,” said Fred, boldly facing 
him, “the plumes have been destroyed. The 
man in that car is the local sheriff. You had 
better give up the holders.” 

As the significance of Skinny’s words went 
home, Parker took a step backward, half 
from amazement, half from fear. At that 
instant both lads sprang. 


CHAPTER XXV 


VICTORY 

P ARKER was not a large man, as men 
go, and his muscular development 
might not be considered great, but for 
all that he was no mean antagonist for two 
half-grown boys. Fred was thin and wiry 
and light of weight, and Paul was stout and 
slow of movement; both lads were strong for 
their age—a clean life out of doors had 
hardened their muscles—but it needed more 
than their combined strength to enable them 
to emerge victorious from a struggle against 
such odds. The object of the attack, more¬ 
over, was to obtain possession of the remain¬ 
ing plate-holders and to keep the man busy 
until the arrival of Jeff. 

When the man stepped back at the sudden 
disclosure by Fred of the fate of the plumes, 
Paul took a stride in his direction, and, be- 


282 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

fore Parker realized wjiat had happened, had 
jerked the shot-gun from his grasp. With a 
flirt of the wrist he sent it flying into the 
clump of palmettos. Fred at the same instant 
leaped for the holders, which Parker still 
carried in his other hand. So unexpected was 
the attack that the boy became possessed of the 
plates as easily as his chum had the gun. 

But there the tide of success turned. Re¬ 
covering from his astonishment, Parker seized 
Fred by the shoulder and with a sudden twist 
threw him flat on his face. The plate-holders 
went smashing to the ground. Paul, bending 
low, hurled himself at the man’s legs and, by 
a hard, clean, flying tackle, upset him. There¬ 
after the boy clung for dear life to those 
threshing limbs, while Fred, rising to a kneel¬ 
ing position, flung his body at the red tousled 
head. 

Parker met the rush of the lighter youth 
with a blow of his fist that sent him crashing 
backward square upon the heap of plate- 
holders. A second wrench sufficed to free 
his right leg from Paul’s grip, and that un¬ 
fortunate person received a blow on the head 


VICTORY 283 

that caused him to see a whole constella¬ 
tion. But Fat hung on like grim death, 
and, to prevent a repetition of the blow, 
crawled higher up on the body of the man 
until he was able to seize him around the 
waist. 

Fred, with venom in his heart, bounded up 
from the wreckage of the precious plates. 
Red Whiskers had finished them , and he 
would suffer for it! Seeing that the man was 
fully occupied with Fat, the lighter chap ran 
around the struggling pair and, awaiting his 
chance while Parker aimed a blow of his fist 
at the face of defenseless Paul, he stepped in 
and grasped the arm before it could fall. 
With a quick wrench he brought it back past 
the red head and held it pinioned there. 

The man uttered an exclamation of pain 
and flung back his free arm, which caught 
Fred an ineffectual glancing blow on the 
shoulder. Paul seized this opportunity to 
climb farther up on the man’s body, but, in 
so doing, loosened his grip. Parker gave a 
savage twist to his body, and the boy was flung 
clear. Reaching back with his free hand, the 


284 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

man seized Fred by the collar and jerked him 
forward. Then, drawing back his arm, he 
prepared to deliver a blow that would put a 
quietus to the boy. 

The blow never fell. A motor-car roared 
to a standstill beside the struggling trio, and 
a man leaped out. Parker felt a powerful 
hand fall on his own collar, and he was 
dragged unceremoniously to his feet. Fred, 
suddenly released, staggered back and stood 
breathing heavily beside his chum, who had 
risen. 

“Hyar, yuh diamond-back!” Parker heard 
a voice bellow in his ear, and in no very pleas¬ 
ant tones. He realized that the game was up. 
The hand tightened on his collar and shook 
him until his teeth rattled. 

“Yuh miserable skunk!” Jeff roared, giving 
him another shake for good measure. “I Ve 
a good mind to wring yo’ neck! What kind 
of a man are yuh, tryin’ to thrash two boys?” 

Turning to the breathless spectators, he de¬ 
manded: “What shall I do with the var¬ 
mint? Want him shot?” 

“Better not,” advised Fred, who had suffi- 


VICTORY 


285 

ciently recovered his breath to speak. “Hang 
on to him, Jeff, until we get our wind back; 
that’s all.” 

“What’s he been doin’ to yuh?” 

“Stealing our stuff,” replied Paul, who was 
now able to join in the conversation. 

“The viper!” Jeff again shook his pris¬ 
oner. 

Parker regained his presence of mind. He 
decided to put a bold face on the matter. 

“Here, you!” he snarled at Jeff in a threat¬ 
ening voice. “Here, let go my collar at once! 
If you don’t it will be the worse for you! Do 
you know who I am?” 

“Yes, suh, I do,” Jeff coolly retorted. 
“Yuh ’re what is known in this hyar bit o’ 
country as a low-down, squirmy diamond- 
back, a rattlesnake. An’ listen hyar, my 
friend, modulate yo’ voice when yuh speak.” 

“These boys attacked me,” Parker whined, 
at once changing his tactics. “I am innocent 
of any wrong intentions toward them. They 
stole property belonging to me, and I came 
to their camp to get it back.” 

“That’s false!” burst simultaneously from 


286 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


the lips of both lads. “This is what hap¬ 
pened, Jeff,” and they went on to detail their 
dealings with the man. 

“And look at the plates!” Paul concluded, 
with a break in his voice, pointing at the 
wreckage that lay at their feet half trampled 
into the soil. “All our work has gone for 
nothing. Every single plate-holder is broken. 
There’s not a good plate left!” 

He broke off, his voice faltering with dis¬ 
couragement and rage, and Fred completed 
the explanation. “Our only hope remained 
in snatching them from Parker,” he said, 
“but he threw me down among them, and that 
was the finish of the plates.” 

“What have yuh got to say to that?” Jeff 
demanded of his captive. “What are yuh 
goin’ to do to help ’em out fo’ the plates?” 

Parker replied with a shrug of his shoul¬ 
ders, adding: “There’s nothing I can do 
about it. The plates are destroyed, and I am 
sorry for it; but if the boys had not been so 
precipitate in their movements that would not 
have occurred. They should not have tried 


VICTORY 287 

to snatch them away. The plates would have 
been theirs in a few moments.” 

“Hum,” said Jeff. 

“They should not blame me for their de¬ 
struction,” continued the prisoner, thinking 
that he had gained a point in Jeff’s sympathy. 
“They have continually pestered me during 
their entire stay here. It was only last night 
that one of them insulted me steadily for half 
an hour while he rode in a wagon with me. 
They are—” 

“Hold on thar, yuh reptile,” warned Jeff, 
administering another admonitory shake. 
“Go easy on yo’ talk. Ef he insulted yuh fo’ 
half an hour why did n’t yuh throw him out? 
And what’s this hyar about them plumes? 
What did yuh want to kill all them egrets 
fo’?” 

“That’s my business,” was the sulky re¬ 
sponse. 

“Ho-ho, it is, is it? Well, I reckon the 
state department up at Tallahassee will have 
somethin’ to say about it, too.” 

“There’s no material evidence,” Parker re- 


288 THE LAST PARRAKEET 


torted with a leer. “These smart boys de¬ 
stroyed the plumes.” 

“That so?” asked Jeff, turning to Paul and 
Fred. At a nod of assent from them, he con¬ 
tinued, “So much the worse fo’ yuh, Parker, 
ef that’s yo’ name.” Then again turning to 
the boys, he asked, “What are yo’ plans now?” 

“There’s only one thing we can do,” was 
the moody reply from Fred. “We 'll have to 
shoot one of the parrakeets; that is, if Parker 
has n’t already cleaned them out.” 

A cunning gleam shot into the eyes of the 
captive at these words. The game, he be¬ 
lieved, was not yet lost—quite. Although the 
plumes were gone beyond recovery, there was 
still a chance of cajoling the boys out of the 
reward for the parrakeets. He chuckled 
aloud. 

“You boys spoke some true words that time! 
What do you think I was doing all the rest of 
yesterday morning while you paddled back 
to camp? I knew the birds were there, and 
I shot all five. I had just sent their skins off 
through the mail when I met our fat friend 


VICTORY 289 

here in the road. So, my lads, you can kiss 
good-by to that five thousand dollars!” 

His listeners felt a sinking sensation in their 
breasts, and they gazed helplessly at one an¬ 
other. The parrakeets were dead—shipped 
north! The last of the species extinct! 

“W-why,” stammered Paul, “why then did 
you visit our camp?” 

“To get the plumes, of course.” 

“If it had been me,” said the boy, “I would 
have gone with the skins to get the re¬ 
ward.” 

Parker shook his head. “No, sir-ee, the 
plumes were worth almost as much, and I 
wanted them both. As it is, I shall have 
to rest content with the reward alone.” 

Fred, who had been keenly watching Par¬ 
ker, took a step forward and faced him. “I 
don’t believe a word you say!” he exclaimed. 
“Why did you smash our camera if there are 
no more parrakeets left to photograph? Why 
were you so happy upon recovering the 
plates?” 

“I smashed the camera in revenge on you 


290 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

for taking my plumes,” coolly retorted the 
man. “The plates were hostages, as you 
know, for the plumes.” 

“Ah-hum,” interrupted Jeff with a slight 
smile at this juncture. “I reckon this hyar 
discussion has gone far enough. What do 
yuh say to this hyar, Mistah Diamond- 
back?” 

Thrusting a hand into one of Parker’s 
pockets he drew forth the body of a freshly 
killed Carolina parrakeet. 

“Before yuh construct any more tales like 
that,” he continued, grinning at the discomfi¬ 
ture of his captive, “jest be sure that yuh keep 
all the feathers tucked in. Hyar,” tossing 
the body to the astounded boys, “that, I 
reckon, belongs to yuh. Keep it in payment 
fo’ the plates old Diamond-back hyar de¬ 
stroyed.” Turning to the man he cried, 
“Now git!” and gave him a shove that sent 
Parker staggering toward the slough fifty 
yards away. 

The man recovered his balance and, shak¬ 
ing a fist at the trio, walked toward the hidden 
boat. His gun lay in the bushes where it had 


VICTORY 


291 

been flung by Paul. This the boy tossed into 
the car. 

“There,” he cried, “we ’ll make the Union 
Museum a present of that—when we get to 
New York. You won’t need it again, Red 
(Whiskers.” 

Their rival paddled down the slough, a 
broken man. He had lost all: the reward, 
the plumes, his gun with which to carry on 
further destruction—and his honor as a 
collector. 

Four parrakeets flew screeching over the 
island. They passed not ten feet over the 
weaponless man’s head and alighted in the 
live-oak above the camp. With a parting 
imprecation, Parker drove his paddle into the 
water, and the bateau carried him out of sight 
around the bend. 

Two hours later the bus churned through 
the meadows in the direction of Thrasher 
ranch. The work of the young collectors in 
the Everglades, for the time being, was com¬ 
pleted, and the return journey was made in 
a happy frame of mind. 


292 THE LAST PARRAKEET 

Late that same night a long telegram was 
sent to Dr. Keene, followed the next morning 
by a lengthy letter that set forth in detail all 
that had occurred. After a consultation with 
Mr. Whitehouse, Fred and Paul had decided 
to remain at the ranch until a reply to the 
telegram was received, and, much to their 
relief, it arrived the following day. Its con¬ 
tents read as follows: 

Parrakeet wings recovered and Partridge dis¬ 
charged. Your case and claim produced before 
officials of U. O. S. and upheld. Parker dis¬ 
credited. You win. Congratulations. Not nec¬ 
essary to have skin right away. If you wish you 
may remain at Thrasher with Mr. Whitehouse 
for two weeks as suggested. Congratulations 
once more. 

Needless to say, the boys remained. 







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